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THE TRAVEL DIARY
OF A PHILOSOPHER

IN TWO VOLUMES

THE

T RA V EL D I ARY

OF A

PHILOSOPHER

+
BY

COUNT HERMANN KEYSERLING

TRANSLATED BY
J. H O L R O Y D R E E C E

CIO

VOLUME ONB

NEW YORK
HARCOURT, BRACE &f COMPANY

FIRST PRINTING,

PRINTED IN THE U. 8. A. BY

THK QUINN * BODEN COMPANY

RAHWAY, N. J-

CONTENTS

Translator's "Preface
Introduction

The Tropics

PART ONE

BEFORE THE START

THE MEDITERRANEAN

THE SUEZ CANAL

THE RED SEA

ADEN

THE INDIAN OCEAN

13
I?
20
2I
23
20

PART TWO

Ceylon

COLOMBO

KANDY

DEMBULL

TO HABARANE

LAKE MINNERI

POLLONARUWA

ANURADHAPURA

42
71
72
73
7^
80

India

RAMESHVARAM

MADURA

TANJORE

CONJEEVARAM

MAHABALIPURAM

AD YAR

ELLORA

PART THREE

I12

I]C4

I73

UDAIPXJR 178

CHITOR 184

JAIPUR 1 86

LAHORE 193

PESHAWAR 195

DELHI 199

AGRA 214

BENARES 220

BUDDHA-GAYA 307

THE HIMALAYAS 312

CALCUTTA 334

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

THE fact that no translation, by its very nature, can tie per-
fect imposes the duty of choosing the best compromise
upon the translator. This raises immediately all the problems
which face the translator. In the case of an original text which
is written in verse or which belongs to an age antecedent to that
of the translator, he may rightly avail himself of every liberty.
A passage of verse may be rendered in a line if by that means
the rhythm, the cadence, the vowel values can be preserved.
He may equally employ a whole sentence to convey the mean-
ing of the shade of a single word which is not susceptible of
direct translation. In the case of philosophic prose, the prose
moreover not only of a contemporary but of a writer who him-
self possesses a vast technical vocabulary in the language of the
translator, all such freedom is denied. The author of the
original text exacts precision above all in the rendering of his
thought and in this connection it is my privilege to give the
reader an assurance which, had I been dependent on my efforts
alone, would be impossible. Count Keyserling, who writes and
lectures with ease in English, has worked upon my translation
for many weeks with the result that he himself is satisfied that
the text which follows here is the accurate rendering of his
meaning to such an extent that in so far as any differences of
meaning exist between the original and the translation, they are
alterations or revisions made personally by the author.

As far as the problem of conveying the meaning is concerned,
therefore, my labour and the burden of responsibility are indeed
light, and it is only fair to allow the reader an insight into the
nature and extent of my indebtedness by saying that in many
cases I had so far failed to seize the intention of the author that
there are entire passages in the English text from the pen of
the author.

The compromise to which my labours therefore appear to be

2 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

confined is the problem of making a match between the mean-
ing of the author's text and the requirements of English prose.
Count Keyserling defined in no equivocal manner the condi-
tions which I had to satisfy. He wrote to me:

'An meinem Reisetagebuch habe ich voile sieben Jahre gear-
beitet, und es steht kein Wort und kein Komma darin, dessen
Sinn und Ort nicht genau bedacht waren. Niemand wird
dem t]foersetzer je verzeihen, der seine Arbeit nicht mit
der unbedingten Ehrf urcht vor dem Originaltext und mit der
absoluten Hingebung an eine grosse Sache geleistet h'atte,
welche Carlyle Goethe gegeniiber bewies.' He then enjoined
me to translate 'strikt wortlich, Wort f iir Wort, und Komma
f iir Komma, . . . Bringen Sie unter garkeinen Umstanden
ein 'urid' an, das nicht im Original text stande (jedes von Ihnen
gesetzte 'and7 habe ich ausstreichen miissen), halten Sie sich
peinlich genau an meine Kommata, Semikolons und Punkte,
ziehen Sie unter garkeinen Umstanden Satze zusammen, die
ich getrennt habe und bedenken Sie iiberall, dass Sie es in mir
mit einem strengen, dynamischen, konzentrierten Geist zu
tun haben, der nicht die leiseste Verdiinnung und Entspannung
des Styls vertragt. . . . Bedenken Sie weiter, dass die Ueber-
setzung der deutschen Musik in englische, von der wir damals
miindlich sprachen, doch nur so zu verstehen sein kann, dass
mein genauer Takt, mein Rythmus, meine Melodie nun
englisch erklange, nicht dass irgend etwas anderes an seine
Stelle gesetzt werden diirf te. Insof era bitte ich, meine Korrek-
turen als endgxiltige Verbesserungen aufzuf assent

Conditions of such stringency reduce of necessity the scope
of corrections, which even a distinguished stylist could attempt,
to a negligible minimum, while they offer to the English reader
simultaneously an absolute guarantee that the present volumes
suffer in no way from the interposition of the style or person-
ality of the translator between the thought of the author and
its English equivalent.

If, in the circumstances, I frankly acknowledge the conscious-
ness of much which is unorthodox in style, in grammar, in
punctuation, and if I confess even to coining words, not to
mention the liberty of attaching a special meaning to certain

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE 3

words and phrases whose recurrence alone will make them
clear to the reader, I will have demonstrated at any rate that
the faults of the translation are mine.

My friend, Lyle D. Vickers, has removed innumerable
blemishes both in my manuscript and in the proofs in the
course of weeks of watches far into the small hours of the night
which he kept faithfully from the beginning to the end of my
work, and only those who have laboured likewise can appreciate
the whole-hearted and unforgettable devotion such service
entails.

Another debt it is a pleasure to record is the assistance I have
had from Mr. R. G. Curtis, who has typed with incredible
speed and accuracy two complete versions of the some quarter
of a million words in these two volumes. The printers, too,
have lessened my difficulties considerably by their great care
and accuracy of composition. Finally if there be any virtue
in my work, I dedicate my labour to her, but for whose infinite
kindliness and encouragement in the face of almost insurmount-
able difficulties, this translation would never have seen the light
of day.

J. HOLROYD-REECE

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

HERMANN KEYSERLING was born on the 20th day of
V^July 1880* Until the age of -fifteen he was educated at
home at the family estates Koenns and Raykiill in Esthonia
by tutors, and then went in succession to a Russian school in
Pernau, thence to Dorpat. Later he went to Heidelberg,
where following in his grandfather's footsteps he .studied
geology* In 1902 he took the German equivalent of his B.A.
in Vienna, and it is about this period that he began his studies
for his future vocation as a philosopher. He read Houston
Chamberlain's Grundlagen des 19. *Yahrhundertsy and he met
the author, whose friendship encouraged him to pursue his
philosophical studies. In 1905 Count Keyserling wrote his
Gejiige der Welty and it was while he wrote this book that he
first conceived the ideal of personal perfection as opposed to
that of professional efficiency.

In the year 1911 he started on his journey round the world,
the outcome of which is the Travel Diary of a Philosopher^
but a great many experiences fall into the period 1903-1911,
which no doubt influenced considerably the formation of his
outlook.

In 1903 he left Vienna to live in Paris. Using Paris as his
headquarters he frequently visited England, and his stay in
France was largely devoted to reading and studying and also
to a certain amount of journalistic activity* He displayed a
very great admiration for Flaubert, under whose influence he
contributed a series of articles to a Munich newspaper. It is
said of Count Keyserling that he acquired much distinction
as a causeur, but this elegant accomplishment in no way inter-
fered with the serious study of Kant, Schopenhauer, and
F. A. Lange. By this time, too, he had made a number of
friends, one of them being A. Wolkoff-Mouromtzoff, the Rus-
sian painter and art critic, who, according to Count Keyserling,

6 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

exercised a considerable influence upon him. He also became
intimately acquainted with Simmel and Bergson, but the human
influence to which Count Keyserling feels himself most
indebted is the influence of his women friends,

In 1905 he lost his fortune temporarily in the Russian revo-
lution and lived for two years in the belief that he was penni-
less. From 1906 to 1908 he made Berlin his headquarters,
but his stay was interrupted by various travels, especially by his
journey to Greece. During his Berlin visit he wrote Un-
sterblichkeit.

In 1 907 he gave a series of lectures in Hamburg, which have
been published since under the title of Prolegomena zw Natur-

He inherited his father's estates in 1908 and thereupon took
up his residence there, that is to say, in Raykiill in Esthonia.
Here he spent a good deal of his time in the capacity of farmer
looking after his estates, but he devoted much time to corre-
spondence with Bergson, Simmel, Walther Rathenau, Max
and Alfred Weber, Boutroux, F. C. S. Schiller, Bertrand
Russell, Lord Haldane, Arthur Balf our, and Benedetto Croce,
To this period also belong various essays now published in
book form under the titles of Philosophic als Kmst and
Wiedergeburt.

Count Keyserling started out on his journey round the world
in the year 1911, and the period from 1912 to 1918 has been
devoted to the writing of it. The book as a matter of fact
was written in 19145 the proofs of volume 1 had already been
passed for press and were in the possession of his publisher
when the war broke out, leaving the author in possession of
the proofs of volume 2 without any means of returning them
to his publisher. Count Keyserling^s estates being on Russian
soil, he had no opportunity of communicating with Germany.
During the .war years, however, he devoted a great deal of
time to going over his MSS., and the latter portion of volume
2 was entirely re-written.

His object in writing this book was to find a means of self-
expression. This desire was so strong in him that at one time
he almost decided to retire into one of the Korean monasteries.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 7

The war itself made little effect on Count Keyserling. He
watched the world's crisis from his retreat in Raykiill, using
those four years of enforced solitude for meditation and self-
culture.

In 1918 a second crisis occurred in his worldly affairs, for
as a result of the Russian revolution he was deprived of his
estates and his fortune. He had to begin anew, to live en-
tirely by his work as a refugee on German soil. In 1919 he
married a granddaughter of Bismarck.

According to his autobiography, Count Keyserling used to
feel that his thoughts and his writings were ahead of his own
day and that for this reason he would not be in any way
representative of his age. The extraordinary success of the
Travel Diary of a Philosopher in Germany, however, has dis-
proved this, a fact quickly seized upon by his publisher, Otto
Reichl, at whose suggestion and at the invitation of the Grand
Duke Ernst Ludwig von Hessen, he opened the School of
Wisdom in Darmstadt in 1920.

The meaning and aim of this school can be gathered from
the English prospectus, issued by the Society for Free Philoso-
phy, Darmstadt, Paradeplatz 2, whose scope is to support the
School materially. Its particular teachings, which aim at
nothing else than a regeneration of mankind on the new basis
created by the War, are embodied in Count Keyset-ling's book,
Scho$feri$che Erkenntms, published in 1922. He is now the
head of a large movement of spiritual renewal, and he spends
most of his time as a lecturer and public speaker.

Although the world at large regards Keyserling as a philoso-
pher, he feels himself in his activity at Darmstadt rather in
the capacity of a statesman or field-marshal. Those who have
never met him and are about to read his Travel Diary, should
be reminded of the fact that the most remarkable qualities of
Count Keyserling are to be found less in his writings than in
his life, that is to say in the man himself.

INTRODUCTION

volume should be read like a novel. Although a con-
siderable part consists of elements created in me by the
external stimulus of a journey round the world, and although
it contains many objective descriptions and abstract commen-
taries which might well have been written separately, this
book in its entirety represents, nevertheless, an inwardly con-
ceived and inwardly coherent work of fiction, and only those
who regard it as such will understand its real meaning. Con-
cerning this meaning I will say nothing in advance. It will
be revealed to those who are prepared to follow the wanderer
willingly through his many moods and transformations, never
forgetting that facts as such never are an object to me, but
only a means of expressing their significance, which exists in-
dependently of them. They must not take offence when they
find that observations on the cultures of foreign places alter-
nate with personal introspection, that precise descriptions follow
upon poetic re-creations j that many, perhaps most, of my
descriptive passages do justice rather to potentialities than to
factsj above all, my readers must not be led astray by the
contradictions necessarily imposed on me by a change of point
of view or mood which I have sometimes forborne to explain
in so many words. Those who are prepared to read my book
in this spirit will, I hope, before they reach the end, have
caught a glimpse not so much of a philosophy possible in
theory, but rather of an attitude of soul and mind capable of
attainment in practice, in which many an ominous problem
will appear to be solved from the beginning, irreconcilable
contradictions will pass away, and a newer and fuller signifi-
cance will be revealed.

To assist the reader who is concerned chiefly with the recog-
nition of specific details I have added an extensive index, in
order to save him a laborious search for the various passages
which have reference to similar problems.

. . . Thus I wrote in June 1914. My book was to have
appeared in the autumn of that year. War was declared and,
as a result, until Esthonia was occupied by Germaa troops,

io INTRODUCTION

every means of communication between my publisher and my-
self was cut off. He had in his possession the first volume
ready to go to press and I was left with the proofs of the second.
In spite of the long interval of time which has elapsed I am
publishing my diary on the whole unaltered. In so far as the
book owes its existence to an oriental attitude of mind, it be-
longs altogether to the 1911-14 period of my creative efforts,
and for this reason any attempt to rewrite it from a different
point of view could only have detracted from its merits. Only
the last two sections — America and Raykiill — have not only
been altered during the war, but rewritten almost entirely. I
found this step necessary in order to complete my undertaking.
In 19141 was so much influenced by the East that I was unable
to express myself adequately as a Westerner 5 as a result, certain
relevant passages lacked clarity and conviction} in order to
round off and to complete the whole in accordance with my con-
ception, in order to give in the ^Finale* the living FazHt of my
digressions round the world — for this task I was altogether
too close to my object. To-day I believe I have done as much
towards this end as my faculties permit. The long, oppressing
period of horror came to benefit at least one creative
effort. . . -

PART ONE: TO THE TROPICS

I
BEFORE THE START

TTTHY should I still go travelling? — My wandering days
VV lie behind mej past are the times in which the mere
acquisition of material enriched me inwardly. In those days
inward growth coincided with the expansion of the surfacej I
was mentally in the position of the child whose body must grow
primarily before one can speak of development in any other
sense* However, no child, no matter how vital it may be,
grows indefinitely. At one time or another, every one reaches
the critical stage, at which he can go no further in the former
sense, and the question presents itself: whether he is to stag-
nate entirely or to transfer his development into a new dimen-
sion. And, since life, wherever it is not exhausted, is incapable
of stagnation, the necessary change of dimension takes place
automatically at a certain age. Every individual, as he be-
comes mature, strives after greater depth and involution from
the very same motives which in his earlier years directed his
efforts to expansion and enrichment. If I stop to compare
the kind and the degree of my present power and desire for
experience with that of a previous period, I notice one fun-
damental difference: in earlier days every new impression,
every new fact entered into my growing individuality as an
integral factor, and my individuality grew in proportion to the
quantity of facts it took in. Through every new experience I
gained a new means of expression j every new point of view
strengthened my consciousness of self, and therefore it was
not senseless if I lived in the hope, as it were, of snatching
from without what spurred me on from within, though it had
not yet revealed itself to me. By the time that my organs grew
stronger I had learnt to control them betterj when new
formations within my being became less frequent and the soul
of the whole came to manifest itself in every particular more
and more, my interest in particulars began to wane propor-
tionately. It had never been more than preliminary, one may
almost say, a pretext to me. To-day no fact as such troubles

I4 THE TROPICS PARTI

me any more. I am not fond of reading, I hardly need my
f ellowmen, and I am tending more and more towards the life
of a hermit, in which shape I can doubtless fulfil my destiny
better than in any other. There is no help for it: I am a meta-
physician and can be nothing else (no matter what else I may
undertake, be it successful or not), and this means that I am
seriously interested only in the world's potentialities, not in
its actualities. As a matter of habit and partially as a form of
self -discipline, I keep up with the progress of the natural
sciences, I go on studying the peculiarities of those who cross
my path, or I read the books in which they have expressed
themselves, but all this concerns me no more. What, then, is
the explanation of the deeply rooted instinct which bade me
travel around the world — an instinct no less imperious than
the one which in earlier days bade me move, in unfailing
sequence, from clime to dime, to maintain the equilibrium
of my precarious health by external means? It is not curi-
osity: my antipathy towards all 'sight-seeing,' in so far as it
does not bear any relation to my inner aspirations, has steadily
increased. Nor is it in pursuit of any search, for there is
no longer any particular problem which my being could take
really seriously. The impulse which drives me into the wide
world is precisely the same as that which drives so many into
monasteries: the desire for self-realisation*

Some years ago, when I determined to live at Raykiill, I
imagined that I needed the world no longer. And indeed I
would not have stood in need of it had I conceived my goal to
be the ripening of ideas which had already begun to shoot in
me, for their development is nowhere less endangered than
in seclusion, which is poor in, or barren of, external stimulus.
But I expected more than that of Raykiill. I had hoped that
its seclusion would help me to that ultimate self-realisation,
thanks to which the thoughts which would come to me might
appear as the pure expression of metaphysical realityj I had
hoped that there I would grow beyond all accidental fetters
of time and space. This hope was disappointed. I had to
recognise, that although in my solitude I became more and
more 'myself ,' it was not in the metaphysical but in the em-

CHAP.I BEFORE THE START 15

pirical sense, and that was the precise opposite of what I aimed
at. I had to recognise that it was too early for me to renounce
the world. For most mortals personality may signify the
greatest of blessings: it is the tragedy of tragedies for the
metaphysician that he cannot ever entirely overcome his own
individuality. Keats says of the poet: 'The poetical nature
has no self — it is everything and nothing j it has no character —
a poet has no identity — he is continually in for and filling some
other body.' He might have added that the poet ought above
all to be selfless in this sense, and that only in so far as he suc-
ceeds in this, is he capable of fulfilling his calling. The same
is true in a higher degree and in a far prof ounder sense of the
metaphysician: the relation of the metaphysician to the poet
is comparable with the relation of the poet to the actor. The
comedian presents, the poet creates} the metaphysician antic-
ipates in his mind every possible representation and creation.
Therefore he must never look upon any form as final, never
feel himself identical with anything or any one j the centre of
his consciousness must coincide with that of the world} he
must look upon every separate appearance from God's point of
view. This is especially so where his own individuality and
his own philosophy are concerned. Raykull did not favour
this process of interiorisation. I, like so many others, began to
regard the possibilities of the world as being exhausted by
some purely personal formula, to treat private and accidental
peculiarities as necessary attributes of Being. I began to be-
come 'Personality.' And thus I recognised how wise Pythag-
oras and Plato had been in extending their wanderings Bright
into the later stages of their mature manhood. The inevitable
process of crystallisation must be averted as long as possible}
as long as possible Proteus must remain Protean, because only
men with a Protean nature are called to the priesthood of
metaphysics. I therefore determined to return to the world.
How far does the world help towards the self-realisation
which I desire? We are usually told that the world hinders it.
It helps him whose nature possesses the corresponding quali-
ties, by f orcing his soul continually to ever-new formations.
Since I grew up impressions as such do not really mean any-

16 THE TROPICS

PART I

thing to mej my mind does not gain by the mere acquisition
of new material. But then again, my psychical being as a
whole now reacts differently according to the circumstances in
which it finds itself and these differences open up to me vistas
of realities which have hitherto been hidden from me. To the
immutable, once he has reached maturity, the world can, of
course, be of no use; the more he sees, experiences and learns,
the more superficial does he become, because he has to under-
stand many aspects of reality with organs which have, so to
speak, been trained to observe only one particular angle of it,
which must needs lead him to receive false impressions. Such
a man would do well to remain in his own sphere. On the
other hand, the supple individual, who is transformed by new
surroundings in accordance with their peculiarities, can never
experience enough, for he gains profundity from every meta-
morphosis. By feeling in his own body and soul how limited
every form is in general, what sensations each experience
gives him in particular, how one is linked to another, the centre
of his consciousness gradually sinks to the bottom where Being
truly dwells. When he has cast anchor there, he is no longer
in danger of placing an exaggerated value on any single
phenomenon; he will understand instinctively all special ex-
perience from the point of view of its universal significance.
A God lives thus from the beginning, by virtue of his nature.
Man slowly approaches the same condition by passing through
the whole range of experience.

I therefore begin my journey round the world. Europe has
nothing more to give me. Its life is too familiar to force my
being to new developments. Apart from this, it is too nar-
rowly confined. The whole of Europe is essentially of one
spirit. I wish to go to latitudes where my life must become
quite different to make existence possible, where understand-
ing necessitates a radical renewal of one's means of compre-
hension, latitudes where I will be forced to forget that which
up to now I knew and was as much as possible. I want to
let the climate of the tropics, the Indian mode of conscious-
ness, the Chinese code of life and many other factors, which I
cannot envisage in advance, work their spell upon me one

CHAP.* THE MEDITERRANEAN 17

after the other, and then watch what will become of me.
When I shall have perceived all the co-ordinates, I ought also
to have determined their centre. I ought then to have passed
beyond all accidents of time and space. If anything at all will
lead me to myself, a digression round the world will do so.

THE MEDITERRANEAN

ow all external connection with what binds me ordinarily
_ , has) been cut off. No news, no letter will reach me. The
feeling of freedom is bliss. Of course, in the sense in which
the majority understand the word, few men are less dependent
than L I have no outward profession, no family to worry
about, no duties to rob me of my time. I can do or leave un-
done what I wilL But in my sense I would be free only if I
were also unfettered by all psychic ties, if I could awake each
morning as a quasimodogenitus — and as yet I fail to achieve
this end without a certain measure of violence. The ^ mental
relationship within which a man lives confines his being not
only inwardly, it is simultaneously an ever-present external
world to him, and this external world can become so importu-
nate that consciousness, especially there where it imagines that
it represents the innermost being, in fact only reflects the
former and therefore fails to get beyond the reflection of
external circumstances. The position is rendered even worse
in the case of apparently favoured mortals by the creations
which they themselves give to the world. The effect of their
own efforts forms a new network of relationships, which
naturally interest their originators and often occupy them
pleasantly, but inevitably lead them astray from the essential.
Strange to say, many mentally active people appear to see an
aim worth striving for in precisely that which I regard as a
catastrophe. No matter how they may interpret their be-
haviour, they are content to be the exponents of, or mere fac-
tors in, given conditions and relations. They feel no impulse
to live beyond the ready-made world in that more real sphere

i8 THE TROPICS PARTI

where significance is the primary reality and all facts are reborn
as symbols. Thus they are satisfied to be heads of schools and
mental leaders j thus they venerate in their individuality or in
their systems (which in principle comes to the same thing)
man's highest possession. I, on the other hand, see in the
highest conceivable idea only abstract representation} in the
best possible system only a rigid skeleton, in all facts only a
chemical precipitate, so to speak, and in all individuality only
an expression or a means of expression of that which alone pos-
sesses unqualified value. For this reason I cannot content
myself with being a factor or an exponent, I cannot see a final
aim in representing an idea or in developing one. The ulti-
mate problem is not that of placing new phenomena into the
world or of preserving and continuing old ones, however
useful it may be in the penultimate sense. Our aim must be to
recognise or to present in given phenomena, whether they be
invented or discovered, that which, being unformed in itself,
conditions from within all formations. How can a man suc-
ceed in this who has given up his being entirely to any one
finite creation? I do not think I have ever given myself up
altogether to one, not even to my own creation. Never, as far
as I know, have I felt myself to be identical with my individu-
ality or with my work. From my youth up I have progres-
sively broken with the man of yesterday and rejected every
completed piece of work just as the pistil rejects the ripe
anther. But I am not yet sufficiently free inwardly to disre-
gard all externals. My consciousness is caught again and again
in psychic fetters and I need to expend deliberate effort to tear
myself away, and sometimes my power to do so fails me.
Moreover, the necessary exertion becomes constantly greater
because the network of relationships to which I belong, ideally
speaking, grows daily, and becomes ever denser and more con-
fused. At times I feel something like fear lest I should be
entangled after all. . * * Therefore, when all other means fail
me, I employ a mechanical device: I take the train and leave
my world until I have become so estranged from it that I can
envisage it as a whole and regain my mastery of it. I know
that many men, and by no means the worst among them, would

CHAP.2 THE MEDITERRANEAN 19

disapprove of such measures; one should be strong enough,
they say, to exist without any such artificial devices. Yes! one
should be, but what if one is too weak? Is one to give up an
attainable goal because one cannot reach it by the shortest
path? Is one to dissipate the little power that one possesses in
order to conquer something which is not an end in itself, but
only a means and one which can easily be attained by a slight
digression? I confess that in relation to my soul I am a con-
vinced Jesuit, or, expressed more accurately and in a less
offensive way: I regard it as a mistake to treat psychic condi-
tions with any more respect or deference than those of external
nature. This deficiency of character— if it be such— is, after
all, an external factor, not my real ego, and to the outer world
I owe no reverence. In fact, instead of being troubled that I
should have to apply external means, I am content to find that
my soul is sufficiently naive to react so energetically and so
rapidly to such simple methods as the mechanical exclusion of
impressions and the like.

Women reckon with their fundamental weakness as they do
with any fact that is self-evident. They regard a man who is
unable to excite love as clumsy, unless perchance love means
nothing to him. Thereby they show not only a superior knowl-
edge of the race but also a prof ounder understanding of life
than most philosophers possess. Soul is nature and must be
treated and judged as suchj its processes are not primarily
related to any spiritual values. This fact, of course, allows us
to draw more than one condusion in practice. It is not neces-
sary to escape its dictates: if one wishes, it is possible by imagi-
nation to graft the highest values upon any natural condition;
thus passion has been hallowed in marriage, and murder in
the High Court of Justice, and that is right and just. What-
ever alternative a man may choose depends upon the aims
which he has set himself. My own forbid me, for the present,
to continue in any particular shape or form. Therefore I
must also not take them too seriously.

PART I

20 THE TROPICS

3
THE SUEZ CANAL

/-T-SHE air that flows about me gives a mighty stimulus to my
JL imagination. In the blue-grey moonlit night the violet-
coloured desert seems to reach beyond the horizon in the East}
above me, at a terrifying height, far higher than I have ever
seen them before, the stars glitter in their courses, and high,
high above them their vault is spread. Space here seems in-
credibly immense and almost becomes spaceless* I am over-
come by a kind of honor vacm. I feel as if this dead world
cried for life; like the djinn in the bottle which imprisoned
him, I feel impelled to grow out of the shell of my body until
the emptiness around me shall be filled. And behold! from
the travails of my soul, before me, above me, between heaven
and earth, finite and yet all penetrating, I see a tremendous
figure in the process of materialisation, the figure of One
whose body is like unto a thunder-cloud, whose being is the
tension of violence held in check. But a little while ago and
He was not there. Yet as soon as He is there He becomes the
centre of the world. He, the all too personal, is the soul of
this impersonal universe! Therefore the meaning of this
great silence is only the suspense of our breath before the storm
and this deep and solemn stillness is nothing but the prelude to
catastrophe. What would happen if He who is above us
should give way to burning wrath? In the desert the Samun
rises and the sandstorm carries away the dunes. . . .

This is the God to whom the people of the desert pray. He
is not Allah, nor Jahveh. He is none of the historical Gods,
who from dark beginnings have, thanks to cumulative inherit-
ance, risen from minor potentates to be the Prince of Heaven.
But He is at the root of all of them, He continues to live in all
of them as an ancestor continues to live in His distant descend-
ants. And occasionally He appears again in His own intrinsic
form. When the languished tribes of Israel believed them-
selves to be chastened in the wilderness, it was He whom they
saw threatening above them. When the Bedouins hide them-

CHAP.4 THE RED SEA

selves before the Samun, it is He before whose terror they
quail.

It is the God of the Desert. Wherever imaginative man
penetrates into the universe which surrounds him, it brings
forth spirits and gods. The creatures thus born into the world
appear different according to the peculiarity of the parents;
sometimes the maternal, and at other times the paternal, blood
predominates. In Greece the gods took after the paternal
strain, the maternal one can hardly be discerned; it would
almost seem as if it mattered little who they were. In the case
of the gods of the desert it was the mother who gave them
their character. Irresistibly and apparently inevitably the ex-
panse of sand generates the offspring of violent despots. This
dead universe calls for life, this rigid equilibrium cries for
arbitrariness, as the stillness hankers after the storm. I doubt
whether the tribes of the desert possess much power of imagi-
nation: how simple, how almost needy are the characteristics of
their divinities! Yet the smallest seed implanted into heaven
by the desert unfolds itself in an immense apparition, so that
the simplest form, like the pyramid, gains greatness by its
mere dimensions.

The straight Suez Canal, this immense work of human
hands, which cleaves the desert so cruelly in twain, fits mar-
vellously into its natural surroundings. This canal too is the
product of an arbitrary act, a fate imposed upon the desert by
a superior will. Here man has indeed created like a god.

4
THE RED SEA

A LARGE portion of my travelling companions consider that
the heat has brought them nigh unto perdition. What
lack of imagination! It is true that in the North such intensity
of heat might become dangerous, for there it would be un-
natural. Under otherwise constant conditions an excessive rise
in temperature explodes the balance of the elements which
constitute a given dimate, and since our bodies exist in relation

THE TROPICS PARTI

to their surroundings, such disintegration might easily destroy
their organisms. But here the heat belongs necessarily to
everything else — its absolute degree is not too high} anybody
sufficiently imaginative should therefore rejoice at it, at any
rate at first, for the passage of time weakens our adaptability}
but at the beginning the unusual factor of the experience acts
as a stimulus and for this reason I would not be surprised if
during the first month I should only experience the positive
element of this tropical climate.

How beautifully everything belongs together here: the cli-
mate, the colours, the outlines, the animals, the sea! Every
time when I sight a new being I feel as if a foreboding had
come to be realised: an animal in these latitudes must look just
as it does and not otherwise. Imaginative syntheses of this
kind no doubt include many a Hysteron-Proteron, but the
mere recognition of this fact does not solve the question.
There really does seem to be a necessary connection between all
the component elements of a world, so that the knowledge of
some of them should enable one in some degree to foresee the
others. I have often, when visiting the zoological gardens,
drawn correct conclusions from the mere nature of an unfa-
miliar animal of its home, even in cases where I lacked all
previous knowledge. Such deductive combinations succeed
with ease if one has a sufficient idea of the general character
of ^the country and the peculiarities of the type to which the
animal in question belongs. In this way the Chinese stag, for
instance, can easily be recognised, in fact it would be possible
in principle to construct the particular animal a priori if one
knows 'Stag* sufficiently and if one is familiar with Chinamen
in their own surroundings.

But for all that, it is very hot. I feel as if the hottest days
of August were upon me. Slowly my consciousness withdraws
from my limbs, which find ample occupation by their changed
surroundings, and1 it remains in serene contemplation of the
Erythraic coast.

CHAP. 5 ADEN 23

5
ADEN

THE black Continent possesses the greatest creative power
of any in the world. Whatever has its origin in Africa
remains African for ever in mind and spirit. In the museum
the gorilla stands out against his native background, and the
zebra and the ostrich conjure the breath of dried-up steppes
into the sweetest spring landscape, but the inhabitants of Africa
have saturated the country into which they have been trans-
planted with their own soul to such an extent that the white
man there sings nigger tunes in order to give vent to his
feelings. To know this it is not essential to have lived
in Africa. And yet, unless I had gone on shore at Adten, I
would scarcely have realised to what a degree this apparent
abstraction, this ^Africa,' is a reality. Here the rocky land-
scape and man, the expanse of sand, the huts of rushes and the
vultures, the dromedaries and the burdens which they bear,
form one single thundering major chord. There is something
absolutely fundamental about this chord and yet each simple
note of which it is composed rings out so pure and clear in
harmony with the others that each tone which one happens
to notice most at any given moment seems to be the key to the
chord. Their harmony is almost exaggerated} it is so great
that its elements are almost denied all chance of existence:
there is no such thing as individual peculiarity here. On the
other hand, the hyperindividual significance of everything
is so manifest and so powerful that the general similarity does
not appear as being stereotyped, but on the contrary impresses
us as the highest type — like the type in Greek art — f or which
reason of repetition produces the effect of rhythmic sequence.
The naked negroes look magnificent. Sculpture in all seri-
ousness would be meaningless here. Among ^ us Europeans
the body is usually a heavy inert mass, and it is the function
of the artist to give expressive values to its substance. For this
very reason he means so much to us. In Africa natural form
creates, in me at any rate, a greater inner elation than most

24 THE TROPICS PARTI

works of art. There are only very few sculptors who have
done better work than Nature, who have realised in a higher
degree than she has the possibilities of the human form. Most
of them have fallen far, far short of their model, especially in
regard to its artistic complex, that is to say, the suggestive
power of their creation. Only the very highest art has the
significance which our esthetes would have us ascribe to all
forms of art. Shall I pronounce it? Artists owe the enormous
esteem in which they are held to a drcumstance which, al-
though it may continue to exist for ever, does not detract from
its accidental nature. The sculptor owes it to the fact that our
body, thanks to its having been clothed throughout many cen-
turies, has lost the power of manifesting its innate expressive
values, for which reason we regard it as a revelation when an
artist realises it in his creations. The poet owes it to the fact
that most people have lost almost all their sensitivity and must
be shown an alien sensation, which awakens a sympathetic
echo in their souls, in order to feel.

All men whom I have seen here are beautiful. The negroes,
especially in their bodies j the Arabs, who gallop past me again
and again through the sandy streets on their noble steeds, in
their characteristic heads! These men are as fair as animals j
their bodies are equally expressive. The reason is that they
all seem typified. Beauty is never an expression of the indi-
vidual: its idea includes the perfection of those tendencies of
form whose expression marks the outlines of the race. There-
fore, in attaining beauty something becomes perfected, which
is more than individual. Here lies the reason of her compel-
ling universal character, from everybody's point of view, pro-
vided they are alive to similar tendencies of formj for every
limited possibility is only capable of one supreme form of re-
alisation. It is impossible to conceive a higher degree of
harmonious and general perfection of the human body than
that which Greek art has revealed to us; this is why we call its
creations absolutely beautiful! From this point of view alone,
on the other hand, can the objective character of aesthetic judg-
ments be understood fully: be they related to natural forms,
their artistic representations or be they mere arabesques: the

CHAP. 5 ADEN 25

whole of nature is ruled by an identical mechanism and an
identical stereometry, so that proportions, presupposing crea-
tion to be what it is, are conceivable everywhere which em-
body an objective optimum. In such judgments the question
of subjectivity does not arise. In the case of types of national
beauty (just as in the case of specific styles of art) this ob-
jectivity is limited to a narrower sphere} it has a meaning only
for those who admit certain premises whose validity may be
subject to discussion. But once these premises are admitted,
then taste no longer plays any part. The negroes of Aden
possess perfect beauty because the type of their race gains per-
fect expression in them.

From the above it is evident that beauty in the sense of
bodily perfection can never be symbolic for an individual.
Not one of the magnificent brows of these Arabs conceals an
even approximately comparable intelligence. It was not for
nothing that Socrates was the ugliest of Greeks — it is not with-
out reason that we are surprised to find intelligence in a per-
fectly beautiful woman. Physical beauty and individual sig-
nificance do not only belong to different dimensions, they are
antagonistic in so far as, everywhere in nature, where the type
predominates, the individual suffers accordingly. Beauty in its
real sense is always super-individual, that is to say, typified
beauty, and a type is generally violated by strong individuali-
ties. The truth of this statement is most apparent in only
partially developed peoples such as the Germans and the
Russians j in their case the important individuals differ physi-
cally from the ideal of the race far more than any member of
the average population. It is least noticeable in completely
crystallised nations like the British. That the latter statement,
however, does not give my fundamental assertion the lie, is
proved by the fact that the original individual belonging to
a completely developed race is almost without exception less
original than in the case of incompletely developed ones*
Modern England will not produce a Shakespeare.

26 THE TROPICS PARTI

6
THE INDIAN OCEAN

How very northern I am, in spite of all! This sea is more
vast and profound than any which I ever crossed — and
yet it fails to create the effect upon me which the ocean usually
does. The soft, almost sickly colours do not allow my con-
sciousness to receive an impression of grandeur. As I look
upon the expanse with its pink undertones, I can only think: this
is the pasture and the playground of the dolphin.

The reason is: I am a Northerner. There is no actual great-
ness in sheer physical expanse: unless it suggests a correspond-
ing heightening of the observer's self -consciousness, it does not
signify greatness, and whether or not it causes such a process
to be set up, depends upon personal factors. Generally speak-
ing, magnificent views of nature such as the mountains, the
desert and the sea (I do not mention the sky at night because
we are too familiar with it, for which reason it has almost no
significance in the sense in which I mean) give a sense of ex-
altation to every human being. In the face of such a spectacle
our hearts begin to f orbode that the limit of our temporal
nature does not necessarily limit our being and that it some-
how depends upon us whether our being is finite or infinite.
The immense forces which we behold outside ourselves, and
which we are yet forced to regard as in some sense belonging
to us, destroy — just as passion does from within — the armour
of our prejudices. Quite unconsciously our ego expands; we
then recognise our individuality as an insignificant portion of
our true selves j we feel ourselves to be greater, more generous
and noble — but also less important and more mean, which in
this case comes to the same thing. The only factor which in
these typical effects varies in each instance with the special cir-
cumstances is its degree. Would an Indian dream of the gods
which the vision of the Himalayas quite naturally creates in his
soul when he beholds the shimmering icebergs of the North
Sea? — Probably he would shiver too much, he would become
godless by reason of the excessive cold. I, on the other hand,

CHAP.6 THE INDIAN OCEAN 27

strive in vain in the Indian Ocean to recall the sensations which
the Atlantic and the North Sea have created in me so often.
The oppressive closeness, the mildness and sweetness of my
surroundings, are incompatible to my mind with the elements
of grandeur. Their effects dull my nervous system. And just
as though I were a woman, I am honestly interested only in
the details in the midst of all this vastnessj so, for instance, I
delight to-day in the curves which the fishes describe in their
whizzing flight from wave to wave.

Yes, indeed, I am a Northerner. . . . Once more Proteus
stands at the extremity of his confines j the Indian Ocean is
incapable of being the North Sea for him. However easy it
be to find a new centre for my psycho-physical being, it is
difficult to change its elements. It is a process that becomes
possible only through the gradual passage of time. Do I not
resemble the criminal who fails time after time to escape from
his prison? Again and again I imagine that I have escaped
from my personality, and again and again I am caught up
in its meshes. I have to recognise, whether I like it or not,
that there are certain factors in me which are not subject to my
volition 5 that I, however free I may appear to be, as a
phenomenon am only a factor in the structure of the world.

CLOTHES are said to lack significance? Creatures who are in
the habit of walking about in a dressed condition carry with
them their own picture mirrored in their consciousness, and for
them their clothes are no less essential than their body. I
fancy that the great men are rare (just as the fools are many)
who have not at one time or another found their own external
style and then been true to it. The divine gift of vanity
brought many a good thing in its wake. Anyone who has
brought his costume and his nature into harmony satisfies not
only his personal and aesthetic requirements, not only his con-
sideration for his fellows — he has found in fact a means of
expression for himself. Why does a sensitive person change
his dothes before joining the social throng of his fellows?
Because in changing his garments he changes' the man within

2g THE TROPICS PART i

them. And in the same way the discovery of an external style
renders the inner being free. No one is really without vanity,
nor should he bej every one looks at himself in the glass.^ For
this reason he behaves with much less embarrassment if his
appearance corresponds with his being. By this I do not wish
by any means to deny the justification of fashion, quite on the
contrary: for the large majority it will always furnish the best
possible means of expression, because the majority do not
possess the peculiarities of distinction, and because fashion as a
rule does complete justice to the general requirements of its
followers. And the same is true of the distinguished indi-
vidual whose greatness depends on the perfection of his type,
a Castiglione or an Edward the Seventh. If, however, an
artist with an abnormal structure of the skull should fail to
wear a flowing mane, he would lose his personal style and for
this reason sacrifice a portion of his expressive ability. — How
do I come to make this observation? This evening there is
a fancy-dress ball on board which I am compelled to attend,
whether I like it or not.

There is after all much to be learned from masquerading.
Not, of course, in the case of the comedian, where appearance
and real nature belong anyhow to two different planes, but
especially in the case of people who have little or no talent
for acting. In the latter case appearance and reality, in spite
of every desire to the contrary, remain in harmony and the
result can lead to nothing short of revelation. I do not suggest
that because a man looks at his best in the costume of the eight-
eenth century, it is thereby proved that the spirit of this age
is the spirit of its wearer, but it is true that his fancy dress
(which after all is only a method of clothing himself with
a certain purpose) assists in expressing certain traits of his
being which in the ordinary course of events remain in the
background. In this way the process of dressing-up can not
only heighten or lessen the man's power of expression: it can
indeed bring about self-realisation. A lessening of expressive
power is the usual result because the natural expression is
normal to the majority. His fancy dress reveals what the man
Is, amongst other things, not what he is essentially; it alters, as

CHAP.6 THE INDIAN OCEAN 29

it were, the centre of his being. The same process brings about
a heightening of the expressive power in those individuals
whose calling and surroundings only permit them, in the
ordinary course of their lives, to convey but a part of them-
selves. Such people are in their fancy dress more, or in a
better sense, themselves than they are otherwise in their *rea?
existence. The most interesting case is the extreme instance of
that mentioned last — the case where the man is not himself
at all in everyday life and is born for the first time at the fancy-
dress ball. There is no doubt that many a man does not fit
either into his age or into his profession or into the world that
gave him birth. Their 'reality5 is, regarded metaphysically,
only a semblance. Thanks to a mask such people sometimes
find their own truth. I see in front of me two men of the
world who are wearing the costumes of apaches, and I am
almost prepared to swear that it is not their present simulation
but their habitual mode of life which is expressive of their
comedy in the eyes of God.

And this reminds me of James Moriers3 immortal Hadji-
Baba of Ispahan, in which he describes in an inimitable fashion
the Eastern power of permutation. Grand Vizier to-day, to-
morrow a barber and the day after ascetic, and yet entirely at
home in each of these parts. The instability of every situation
in oriental life makes it easier there not to take any of its forms
too seriously. Accordingly their judgment of values differs
in proportion. A man is regarded always as being what he rep-
resents, wherefore his behaviour assumes an importance which
the modern Westerner can scarcely comprehend. How could
it be otherwise? If appearance is not really taken seriously,
then its semblance must be hypostatised. We Westerners
believe instinctively in the divine preordination of a man's
external position in life, and for this reason we consider form
of less account than they do in the East} on the other hand,
where form appears to us to be a necessity, we credit it with
a metaphysical reality. The nobleman must play the part of
noblemen in every situation in life and so on and so forth. — On
the other hand, what we conceive to be possible in America
proves that fundamentally we are not as unwise as we appear:

30 THE TROPICS PARTI

we do not transplant our demands over there. Even the noble-
man who was luckless on this side of the water may earn his
living on the other as a waiter; there even he will accept dou-
ceurs and tips without a flicker of the eyelid's,

A research student whose profession causes him to travel
through the length and breadth of India and who appears to
be a distinguished connoisseur of the country and of the
people, proposed to me that I should join himj I would
thereby gain a prof ounder insight into the life of the Indians.
The curious position in which I am placed makes me smile: in
case I accepted this piece of good luck I would sacrifice the
whole purpose of my journey. What do the facts as such con-
cern me? And if they did, would I travel for their sake?
Specialists have been everywhere before mej their discoveries
are at every one's disposal. The observations which I could
make would undoubtedly be of less value than those made by
men who are specially qualified for such tasks. It would be
clearly waste of energy and time for me to do what others can
do better. Young and talented people are fond of asserting
that man must be capable of everything. However, man is
not capable of everything and the small achievements which he
may call his own suffer by the diffusion of his attention. It is
curious that politicians of all human types, although they are
the least thoughtful metaphysically, are the only variety who
understand how to differentiate between their person and the
brains they make use of. They alone are not concerned who
executes a piece of work, provided it is well done. The phi-
losopher, however, blushes at the mere possibility that his mind
might not be omniscient and instead of increasing his own
powers to the utmost by a correct judgment of himself and by
undertaking only what his nature is fitted for, and by employ-
ing minds better suited to tasks which are alien to his nature,
lie spoils his own work by his illusion that he represents the
Almighty in propria persona. This protective gesture of vanity
is comprehensible in insignificant peoplej the philosopher is an
organiser on the vastest of scalesj he could afford to be less
fettered in mind. Well, as far as I am concerned myself, in so
far as I am free I can only claim to be so since yesterday. To

CHAP.6 THE INDIAN OCEAN 31

think of all the enterprises that I have undertaken since the
early days of my adolescence! Passage of time makes one
more wise. To-day I trust other eyes better than my own
when precise observation is at stake j whenever the impression-
ability of the experimentalist may cause an experiment to lose
in power of conviction, I substitute my nervous system by that
of a more robust nature; if a logical chain is to be construed
in order to link recognised premises to a fact which is guessed
at, I leave the task, whenever possible, to better logicians than
myself, and all intuitions which concern specialists I pass on
to them as suggestions whenever they seem to me to be worth
considering. As far as my own person is concerned, I confine
myself to penetrating into the significance of things. And in
this connection the agglomeration of too many facts is not a
help but a hindrance. The basic tones of a world can be per-
ceived in a few chords by anyone capable of listening to them
at all. Too much music confuses the ear.

The necessity of limiting the subject of one's consideration
is theoretically recognised by everybody, but very few people
seem to know that the tool, the Ego, also requires limitation j
this is especially true of the impressions to which the Ego is
exposed j for this reason people like myself are so often apos-
trophised as cranks, egoists and eccentric individualists. I,
for instance, am considered on board to be haughty because I
retire whenever and as far as possible from the company of my
fellow-travellers, whereas the real explanation is that I can
only exercise my specific mental powers in complete seclusion.
If I am to do the work which has been set me, my nervous
system must be perfectly in tune, my attention disengaged
and my mind free. These conditions on their part also involve
other conditions. It may well be that such considerations
detract from one's merits as a human being in the course of
time, but this objection is of no significance j for a mental
worker must be sufficiently unselfish to bear the risk of any
possible injury to himself. He must — let me describe the
position by an extreme and mythical instance — be ready to
forfeit his eternal bliss, if an unholy life can help him to a
prof ounder recognition. He must live for his problem in the

32 THE TROPICS PARTI

same way as the good mother lives for her child. Unfor-
tunately it is not true that all forms of perfection lie in the
same direction; the perfection of a work of art demands
different conditions from the perfection of personal existence.
Now, whenever the choice has to be made between a mediocre
realisation of one's self in life and an important one in one's
work, the latter is always to be preferred. A profound recog-
nition discovered and expressed by an imperfect being may
benefit the whole of humanity. To place human perfection in
this sense above everything else, as is usually the case, is a
proof not only of the most primitive form of egoism but also
of a fundamental misconception. Who lives literally <unto
himself,' and who could do so? No one. There is no differ-
ence in the sight of God between the man who strives after per-
sonal perfection or the man who lives for his work or for his
fellows or for his children. Everyone aims at something
beyond the individual, For even that which probably survives
death, that ego whose immortality the Christian postulates, is
not to be found in human personality: it is its fruit to which
it only gives birth.

I HAVE actually counted twenty-three different nationalities
amongst the passengers. One ought to suppose therefore that
my fellow-travellers present anything but a homogeneous
impression. However, the precise reverse is true} the various
individuals hardly differ from one another, if I disregard
external similarities or their innermost life and judge them
from the point of view of their tangible character alone.

This is the result of simply being together for fourteen days
in the not even closely restricted space of an ocean liner. I
wonder whether there was any difference whatever between
Noah, his lions and his sheep towards the end of their journey
during the flood? — Each individual as a phenomenon is only as
much as he is able to express, and he becomes greater or lesser,
thus or different in accordance with the traits which are
accepted by his surroundings: this explains the immense power
of milieu. The milieu of Paris, for instance, enlarges every

CHAP.6 THE INDIAN OCEAN 33

mind which is in any way congenial to it. It is possible to
understand there what one would never have arrived at oneself
and such understanding awakens new ideas. In Paris, whose
cultured circles are mentally the most agile in the world, this
process of development takes place with such rapidity that
thought is never actually at rest and with a sudden impetus
one is lifted up from one level to another, reaching a height
one could never have attained in other surroundings. For this
reason minds which have been trained in great capitals — such
as ancient Athens, Florence, Alexandria, Rome, Paris — are
always superior to those that have developed in the provinces*
— Conversely the herding together for a long period on a
steamer results in such banalisation that ultimately the differ-
ence between man and beast disappears. In such surroundings
only the most banal traits (that is to say, the very traits which
fine personalities ignore both in themselves and in others from
a feeling of tact) make themselves felt, and since a man's
immediate surroundings continually present him with their
likeness he becomes so conscious of them that in the end he
himself becomes transformed in accordance with the conception
that his surroundings have of him. — The milieu of an ocean
liner appears to me like the best possible caricature of the
World/ that mighty institute for indigence, I am anything
rather than hostile to the worldj every one, no matter who
he be, must remain in touch with his fellows if he is not to
cripple his mentality, and perhaps contact with so-called
society is the best means to this end. The manners and cus-
toms of social life force one to pay attention to people whom
one might otherwise disregard} the average human element
predominates and finds expression in a form which makes it
appear acceptable. It is precisely men who are mentally lonely,
philosophers, who should be men of the world if they mean to
prevent fatal retrogression in their development. But there is
an immense difference between retaining contact and visiting
this world, and becoming its victim. To become its victim
always involves serious mental impoverishment. There is,
however, one exception and that is the type of man whom I
would call the representative type. There are men, above all

34 THE TROPICS PARTI

there are women, who throw away their lives in the most
senseless fashion and yet do not deteriorate in the process j in
fact, it seems to develop them. The type that I refer to
reached its perfection in the eighteenth century. Is a mode of
life conceivable, more empty than that of the great ladies of
those days? Real love was unknown to them, they had no
serious interests of any kindj the whole of their existence was
spent in tittle-tattle. And yet many among them were pro-
found and their profundity was not impeded by their form of
life 5 on the contrary, it gave them a means of expression. It
gave a soul to their esprit and to their art of living. And for
this reason the frivolity of this period occasionally gives an
impression of gravity and profundity which strikes us as being
strange and makes one dream. . . .

Milieu. . . . While I am on the subject I would like to
pursue a course of thought, odd though it is, which from time
to time reappears in my consciousness. In accordance with the
surrounding^ in which one happens to be, different traits
gain predominance} should this not be equally true in the
case of one's own surroundings, of that which most people
identify with the word: myself? To my mind the differences
of character between a child, a man and an octogenarian are
nothing but the reflex action of their surroundings. A child
of profound self -consciousness anticipates the wisdom of old
age, and the octogenarian who is unfettered in his spirit can
remain young to the hour of fas death: I sometimes explain
this to myself by thinking that a different set of peculiarities
are manifested according to physical coincidences. The nerves
of an old man cannot react as those of a child and vice versa.
The same is undoubtedly true of men and women if I regard
their differences from the standpoint of the metaphysical self.
The ascertained facts of heredity would appear to suggest that
every individual contains in a latent form all the peculiarities
of his ancestorsj and which of these peculiarities are able to
manifest^ themselves depends entirely on circumstances. If
an individual— as such, the bearer of the inheritance of his
whole ancestry— assumes the shape of a woman, then the
manly traits cannot find expression and vice versa. This shows

CHAP.6 THE INDIAN OCEAN 35

how ridiculous it is to demand feminine virtues of a man, or
to reproach a woman with her insufficiency of masculine quali-
ties* It is conceivable that the entity which as a man resulted
in Caesar Borgia, might have found her corresponding feminine
expression in the character of a sister of mercy. . . . Why
should I not consider further possibilities? — The damp heat re-
moves all my inhibition. I am beginning to feel quite indiffer-
ent to my critical powers of perception} I feel tempted to sur-
render myself completely to the sway of unlimited possibilities.
— Suppose there be such a thing as Heaven and a continued
existence after death: this form of existence, as it is represented
universally in the mythologies of all nations, seems quite in-
conceivable as long as one assumes that men remain after death
what they were before. But would it be impossible to regard
^Heaven* as the kind of inward milieu, in which the negative,
the evil and destructive qualities fail to find expression, in
exactly the same sense as the feminine potentialities are in-
expressible in masculine organisms? On a priori grounds there
is nothing to be said against this. Only, of course, life in
Heaven could not in those circumstances represent a final
phase. . . . The boat once more passes through a crowd of
rosy-tinted jelly-fishes whose umbrella-like bodies flap to and
fro helplessly in the midst of the rushing waters. How would
it be if I were to express myself through the physical medium
of such a creature? Most of what constitutes the human soul
would no doubt remain unmanifested; only a small fraction
of my being could show itself. But this fraction wpuld pre-
sumably be one which is incapable of expression in human
form.

PART TWO: CEYLON

7
COLOMBO

WHAT becomes of me on the green island of Lanka?
Every hour I am sensible of a change in me. I feel that
in this hothouse air it is futile to work, to wish, to strive; noth-
ing succeeds but what happens of its own accord. And an in-
credible number of things do happen here by themselves,
more than I had ever thought possible. In fact everything
within me is happening of its own accord. My volition wanes
irresistibly. I am transformed into a gentle, soft creature who
enjoys life without ambition and without any creative desire.

The whole of my life has turned into a process of vegeta-
tion. But of course this latter concept appears to be true only
when drawn from the flora of the tropics, not from that of
northern latitudes. There vegetating implies a minimum of
life — a form of existence barely sufficient unto itself. Here it
implies a maximum. These plants which rise overnight from
the earth to the sky resemble gods in their vitality. In Cey-
lon, as elsewhere, vegetating signifies a form of existence which
proceeds without effort, but then effort is superfluous here:
everything succeeds without it. Here vegetating becomes the
form of all life, even of mental life; the mind becomes ram-
pant, like tropical plants. Already I realise in myself that
the mental life of tropical man is comprehensible only from
the botanical point of view. His images blossom forth like
flowers, wildly, luxuriantly, confusedly, without effort and
without the supervision of the gardener, and are therefore
irresponsible. It is in this way, no doubt, that we should ex-
plain the history of Indian mythology: the stern teaching of
the sages of the North-West could not survive for long in
the southern districts; its simplicity soon began to develop into
aimless exuberance. Thousands of gods sprang from the
fruitful soil like mushrooms after rain. Hindooism in its
boundless richness can only be understood as a vegetative
process.

Nobody identifies himself with a phenomenon which is self-
evident; no one centres his self -consciousness in the mere

40 CEYLON PART n

processes of physiological change, in the circulation of his
blood. We only recognise as belonging to our nature what
somehow depends on our own determination. Thus no West-
erner who wishes to be taken seriously would count the material
and external world to himself, but he would lay claim in the
above sense to the psychic world, the sphere of thought and
imagination. On this natural connection those typically West-
ern philosophies are based, in which Being appears identified
with thought, volition or action. In the tropics — I feel it
already — it does not occur to one to judge psychic phenomena
by a different standard from physical onesj it never enters
one's head to take them seriously metaphysically. Everything
that happens in me, develops in me as the plants develop out
there. It is not I who think, but something thinks in me,
it is not I who wish, but something wishes in me. Actually
this k what happens everywhere, but in Ceylon, where nature
does everything essential, claiming with emphasis for herself
all that belongs to her, so that man shall not misunderstand
himself, everyone becomes conscious of this truth. For the
most mediocre native, Buddha's doctrine of cognition must be
a matter of course, while the most cultured European only
very exceptionally perceives its truth. The latter is conscious
of action precisely where the Oriental recognises inaction} he
necessarily inclines to count a portion of external nature unto
himself.

The Maya-doctrine, the teaching which proclaims the un-
reality of the world, is typical of the tropics in the same sense
in which naturalism is typical of northern countries. In the
north, where man must enter ceaselessly into nature in order
to maintain its processes, nothing is more natural to him than
to take the latter seriously. If he gives way to these tendencies
and makes a system of the views to which they lead, a con-
ception of the world results, according to which man is con-
tained completely within the boundaries of his own psychic
processes. , If, on the other hand, the processes of nature are
assumed as a matter of course, if the mind does not need to
concern itself with them in any way, then it is equally natural
not to take any phenomena seriously. Moreover, since the

CHAP.; COLOMBO 4I

impulse of the will is so small that the wish fails to become
father to the thought, all appearances are naturally regarded in
such a way that concrete events mean nothing but pretence
and make-believe. But this outlook signifies— exactly as its
opposite, namely naturalism — no more than a passage a la
limite, and is for this reason well in accordance with human
nature. The significant point to observe here is the following:
that the two extremities of the pole harmonise in the position
they assume towards the absolute, for they both deny it com-
pletely. Naturalism does so because the vivid consciousness of
the processes of nature makes their perpetuation into another
world seem superfluous j Buddhism does the same for opposite
reasons. Everything man can become conscious of in the con-
crete Belongs to nature; wherever nature is felt to be unreal,
consciousness turns away, as it were, from its possible con-
tent^ it becomes more and more empty, till at last noiiing
remains. In this way the Buddhist of Ceylon regards nothing-
ness as the background of semblance; the world holds no more
than that for him. Such a conception can hardly be realised in
Europe. Since I am staying in Ceylon I too am beginning to
find this point of view tenable.

The doctrine of Maya has been compared with philosophies
which in Europe represent the unreality of the world. Such a
comparison cannot be made even superficially; all European
illusionists, in so far as they can be regarded as honest, were
ansemic theorisers who attached greater weight to logical argu-
ment than to experience: no Occidental can really believe in
Maya. And yet there are minds among us who are justified
in sharing the Buddhistic attitude to life. The man whose
culture is ancient finds it more and more difficult to realise
himself in any form at all; his thoughts, his emotions, his
actions mean nothing in relation to himself; he does not and
he cannot identify himself with them. Such an attitude is
equivalent to that of the Buddhist. But here its consequences
are precisely reversed. The condition of the Buddhist is a
happy one, for he longs for nothing more than to escape from
his particularised existence; the condition of the modem
European is tragic, for he is consumed by a passion for exist-

42 CEYLON PART n

encej he regards himself as impotent in so far as he fails of
self-realisation. To deny existence absolutely, that saving
grace of the Buddhistic nihilist, is an impossibility to the vital
European. Therefore precisely the same circumstance which
made the teaching of Buddha take root in Ceylon, caused at
home the success of Friedrich Nietzsche. Nietzsche's doc-
trine of the superman is not an expression of greatness, but an
expression of the desire for greatness, perhaps the most
pathetic expression of that desire which has ever been known.

8
KANDY

THE landscape which unfolds before the traveller, as the
spiral of the mountain railway carries him from the op-
pressive heat of Colombo to the cooler regions of Kandy, is
nothing short of magical. The richness of the flora is over-
whelming everywhere, but it has its own marked peculiarities
at every level, so that the eye, when it looks far down from
the heights, beholds not one but many forms of nature, which
are either sharply defined, one against the other, or else pass
gradually into one another. Perfect beauty abounds every-
where, that beauty which falls to the lot of everything, in
which meaning and expression are one. And then Kandy!
This peaceful lake encircled by dark green hills, surrounded
by trees which blossom like flowers, and embedded between the
richest pastures — this lake with its uncertain misty tints in
which the brilliant sunshine is reflected only as an echo, looks
like a moonstone against a background of dark velvet. When
I arrived I was so thrilled that I immediately started for a long
walk, and when I returned, feeling weary, I thought, as I
reclined in a comfortable arm-chair on my shaded balcony:
thou art in paradise. Here even thy boldest expectations have
been exceeded, here thy most unlimited wishes are fulfilled}
now thou shouldst be completely happy.

Am I? It is ungrateful of -me, but I am not. I am not
happy precisely because every wish seems to be fulfilled, and

CHAP. 8 KANDY

in fulfilment all longing is neutralised, and without longing
the life that I mean ends. I feel as if my innermost possi-
bility of life were cut off} I have never been in an atmosphere
whose suggestive stimulus was less. At the moment it is true
that my surroundings stimulate me, but that is not due to them
but to the fact that they were strange to me and that their
strangeness incites my senses and my mind to enter into ever
new relations with new experience. I could imagine that ex-
travagant natures such as those of Gauguin and R. L. Steven-
son could find continuous stimulus here, because even super-
abundance does not satisfy extravagant natures. As far as
I am concerned, however, I am convinced that my imagination
would soon become paralysed. Here, where everything is
fulfilment, the soil for aspiration is lacking.

Longing and fulfilment! Is the normal relation of these
two concepts not also the solution of the whole problem, the
problem as to why the moderate, not the hot zone has been
the scene of all the great actions of the human mind? In a
place where everything is at hand, search seems unnecessary,
and the ultimate issues have never been found by anyone who
was not a seekerj where everything is supplied from outside,
there is nothing to give an impulse to the will and slackness
has never yet produced heroic action. Idealism cannot flourish
where every possibility is realised. For this reason all the
original creations from tropical zones bear features which
are curiously lacking in spiritual qualities. In the climate of
the tropics imagination vegetates, like everything else. No
doubt there are occasions when it produces wonderful blossoms,
either extravagant in phantasy like the mythology of the gods
in folklore, or else oppressively scented like the lyrics of over-
refined court poets} every now and1 again there are products
which, like the palm tree, possess strong and powerful outlines.
But all these creations, no matter how beautiful they may be,
remain in the sphere of nature} they do not emanate from the
depths of the mind and the soul, they are not born again of the
spirit} they are expressive of spirit only in the sense in which a
flower expresses it* Nature, no matter how rich she may be,
cannot rise to the heights of spirituality. They can only be

44 CEYLON PART n

reached by the man who through personal effort rises above
the sphere of his origin. The inhabitant of the tropics lacks the
necessary impulse because everything possible happens of its
own accordj and he lacks the energy to desire the impossi-
ble.

His consciousness must be appallingly poor: he is conscious
only of what does not happen by itself, and when everything
occurs automatically, what remains? He cannot know love
either. What we call love is based purely on our power of
imagination. Where desire anticipates satisfaction, where
representation anticipates reality, that marvellous image is
born which becomes richer, more tender and more beautiful
in proportion as the distance increases between longing and
realisation. For this very reason love in the North has pro-
duced blossoms so infinitely more precious than in the South,
because in the North the mind loves to dwell in the land of
dreams, whereas the South possesses a paramount sense for
reality. The further south man lives, the more sensuous, in
the animal meaning of the word, does he become and the less
active in imagination. The road from longing to fulfilment
ultimately becomes so short, that psychic creations are im-
possible. Experience does not exceed longing and the proc-
esses which are born of love in the northern sense become
impossible. It appears to be a matter of course in the tropics
that those who feel erotic attraction possess each other. When
Indian poets speak of longing, they mean the anguish of sepa-
rated couples who by their separation cease to satisfy them-
selves} they never mean the longing for the unattainable and
for the unseen. In the tropics our longing is unknown.

There is only one form of longing which they can feel and
which can remain alive and increase to such a point that finally
it appears as a power capable of moving the world: the longing
to escape from all superfluity and all abundance. There have
been minds in northern countries which have rejected reality,
but their motive was never desire for liberation from reality,
but dissatisfaction with what it offered. Their negation lacks
a really profound motive, their attitude has never therefore

CHAP. 8 KANDY 45

become productive on a large scale. In the tropics the longing
to be out of the world has proved to be the most creative im-
pulse. It is this longing alone which has brought the pro-
f oundest elements to the surface because the roots of this long-
ing alone really plumb the depths. Indeed, where nothing
is left to be desired, superfluity implies limitation in the same
sense as does real want in other circumstances} here abundance
becomes an obstacle to energetic action, it weakens our sense
of life and threatens to strangle self -consciousness* Here it is
precisely the powerful mind which is most inimical to the
world. It is for this reason that the teachings which seem
weakest to us and appear as the excrescence of degeneracy,
the teachings which show the worthlessness of existence, are
precisely those which possess vigour in the tropics. Spirit
seems powerful here only in so far as it tries not to create
reality, but to deny it. — The crescent moon is reflected in the
lake, in the tops of the palms rumbles the humming of a
thousand insects. How I long for Nirvana! How I long for
an existence where creation is not over-powerful, where nature
does not smother the mind with its luxuriance! How I long
for a non-individual, non-defined condition of existence, in
which I could be free from all that binds me now, free from
joy and sorrow, free from gods and men, and free from
myself. ...

I AM trying to watch the pknts grow; it ought to be possible
in Ceylon. The undergrowth literally jumps from the soil}
the bamboo shoots upwards to the sky. The whole of creation
seems in a constant state of flux; one needs no Heraclitus here
in order to make this plain. What a different thing a forest is
in the tropics and at home! In the moderate zone 'forest' is a
collective concept which embraces in our sense a large number
of single trees. Here the forest is the more concrete concept
as opposed to the trees, which abstract themselves, as it were,
only with difficulty out of the chaotic greenery, and the process
of growth is so rapid, so rich, luxuriant and unlimited, and all

46 CEYLON PART n

forms are so interwoven and so inextricably merged into one
another, that their outward appearance does not tempt one to
formulate a theory of Being: everything is demonstrably in a
process of 'becoming/ and beyond this process nothing is to
be found. Every minute that you look about you proves the
truth of Buddha's phenomenology.

The latter is undoubtedly the most precise theory of vege-
tation which has ever been enunciated. In so far as the life of
the plant is typical of all life, Buddha has spoken the truth
for men also, and that is saying a great deal; all ultimate prob-
lems are presented and solved as completely in the plant as
in the most highly developed human life and destiny, the
problems of freedom, immortality and the ultimate roots of
Being. Nevertheless there is something dissatisfying in partic-
ularising about man from the nature of plants; one does not
wrong his being, but one does injustice to the peculiarities of
his nature. In emphasising man's similarity to the plants his
essential difference from them is overlooked. While studying
the teachings of Buddha I frequently asked myself whether
he wished to make plants of men; there is no doubt that he did
so. His teaching aims so strongly at the unification of life
that the beings who have followed it were bound to develop
towards what is common to all. The passivity of the Buddhist
has no other significance than that he is a plant-like being.

Since I have been in the tropics I am no longer surprised
that Buddha has based his doctrine of salvation on the phenom-
enology of plant life. Life here is vegetation; body as well
as mind vegetates and this vegetation exhausts all the possibili-
ties of physical existence so completely that the question of a
possibly higher destiny for man does not arise.

THE influences of this tropical world have changed my
organism sufficiently to enable me to enter into and remain in
the Buddhistic consciousness. It is an experience which teaches
me much. It is not difficult to do justice to the theory of Bud-
dhism, for its theory is all of a piece with every empiric system
of the West j the psychology of Taine, Ernst Mach, William

CHAP. 8 KANDY

James, the outlook of Auguste Comte, Herbert Spencer, Wil-
helm Ostwald and even Bergson correspond in fundamentals
with the teaching of Buddha, provided each one is regarded
from a certain angle and that the measure of common ground
is admitted to be limited in certain directions and to a cer-
tain degree* The reason is that all empirical thinkers con-
template action in its actuality. On this assumption the possi-
ble results are predestined} in so far as empirical thinkers dis-
agree, disagreement must be traced to differences in perspec-
tive and talent. Spencer and Ostwald and Mach would have
taught much the same as Bergson did, if their minds had been
equally acute, for their intentions were originally the same.
The philosophy of Buddha shows the greatest similarity with
— of all the Western systems — that of Ernst Machj both
philosophies possess the same advantages and the same weak-
nesses. The advantages depend on exactitude of observation,
and the weaknesses on insufficient profundity of observation.
It is conceivable, of course, to see the whole range of reality and
possibility condensed in actuality. Acvagosha, the founder of
the Mahayana-doctrine, succeeded in doing this six hundred
years after Buddha, and Bergson in our day succeeded in doing
the same. As a feat of philosophic recognition, regarded from
the human point of view, such an achievement must be con-
sidered as particularly valuable because the picture which this
point of view presents, portrays the peculiar character of the
world most completely and with the least possible distortion.
But then, Buddha was unable to understand actuality so pro-
foundly, he was unable to contemplate simultaneously that
which is and that which is in process of transition} he noticed
'becoming' alone.

It is perf ectly intelligible that the abstract minds of scholars
are satisfied with an outlook such as that of the Buddhist} a
man like Mach felt no metaphysical need, he possessed no
religious feeling and he was therefore contented with his
phenomenological relativism. A man, on the other hand, who,
by powers of recognition, has attained Buddhist results and
is moreover in living relation with the universe, will as a rule
incline to absolutism; he believes in the absolute in some form

48 CEYLON PART n

or other. This was the case with all the sages of India whose
phenomenological outlook agrees in all essentials with that of
Buddha5 the same is true in the West in the case of Auguste
Comte, who even created a religion which was ^emotional to
the extreme. Fundamentally the same may be said of William
James, who believed in a personal God, and also Herbert
Spencer, to whom the Unknowable became almost a sub-
stance as he grew older. Buddha, on the other hand, founded
a religion which is nothing but phenomenological relativism,
He did what Ernst Mach would have done if he had an-
nounced the result of his analysis of sensations as a gospel.
This explains what seems a paradox to the Western observer,
what makes the wise Brahmin despise Buddhism and which
has hitherto estranged me too. Now, however, I am begin-
ning to understand. Given the physiological assumption which
exists for man in the tropics, Buddhism really does mean a gos-
pel or can at any rate mean one.

I need only analyse my own consciousness and how it has
been changed in the course of each day. My normal need for
action has decreased perceptibly, all my initiative has gone and
instead of acting myself I allow events to happen to me. And
this gives me the distance to myself normally, which even
the most contemplative man in northern countries experiences
only rarely. It gives me simultaneously that inner calm which
must necessarily precede clear self -recognition. In fact, as I
wrote already in Colombo: in the tropics it is not difficult to
perceive psychic action objectively. But there is something
further: this vegetative faction — organic processes resemble
vegetation wherever they occur without determination by the
ego — is enormously intensive, much more intensive than in
northern latitudes j both in body and mind I feel myself to be
continuously growing, budding, blossoming and also continu-
ally changing and decaying, I have the feeling as if I were
being driven onwards restlessly through a ceaseless sequence
of births and deaths. The result is twofold: firstly that I am
conscious with extraordinary intensity of the true nature of
action which is an endless chain of birth j secondly I realise

CHAP. 8 KANDY 49

that it is impossible for me to look beyond this Samsaraj I
cannot discover that beyond or outside its instability there is
any stability at all. All my consciousness of existence is ab-
sorbed by changing formations. On the one hand I do not
feel myself identical with these formations, on the other my
consciousness of this non-ego process is so intense that there
is no room for an independent ego-consciousness. If I now
listen to the teaching of Buddha, from this new basis of ex-
perience, according to which there is nothing but a process
without beginning and without end, in which unending series
of accidents occur, according to which all apparently solid
formations are only transitional manifestations in the course of
change, according to which, moreover, there is no ego beyond
this change, no self-determined soul, no personality, then I
recognise in this teaching a marvellously dear conceptual
rendering of my own experience. I do not feel estranged any
longer by this teaching; in a sphere in which there is no ego-
consciousness one cannot demand its continuation. Where no
consciousness of immortality underlies experience, one does
not long for immortality either. The non-ego doctrine, once
you presuppose the physiological basis on which all conscious-
ness rests in the tropics, signifies precisely what the teachings
of the ego and its continuation signify subject to European
presuppositions. And I now understand very well how the
disciples of Buddha could rejoice at a doctrine whose recog-
nition among intellectual Westerners would have produced
despair. Man always experiences joy when some one else
makes clear to him his own experience.

This recognition removes all the difficulties of the Bud-
dhistic Nirvana concept. The man from the tropics feels him-
self imprisoned by the non-ego, by an omnipotent nature which
fills his consciousness on all sides. As long as he is satisfied
with this process he asks no questions, just as no youth full
of vigour of life enquired after heaven in the West during the
Middle Ages. But when the day comes, as it usually does, on
which he tires of his condition and on which he suspects higher
possibilities, tropical man can conceive these only in the sense

50 CEYLON PART H

of release from the fetters of nature. He cannot transplant
his ideal into her in the sense of a life in heaven, because
every conceivable form of life would be identical with the
very form of which he is tired; his ideal therefore is of
necessity dissolution. What now does he really understand by
Nirvana? How can he define this conceptually? He does not
possess an ego-consciousness as opposed to fluctuating nature
and for this reason cannot assert that he longs for a higher and
positive existence. No more can he assert that he wishes to
perish in nothingness, because, the moment that he wishes to
escape from the processes of nature, he admits that he does
not feel himself being absorbed into them completely. He
possesses a very definite feeling of longing to escape from the
turmoil of change and decay; he has a definite feeling of long-
ing which is connected with an indefinite expectation for a
positive improvement. It is this feeling which in Ceylon I
experience myself. But when I try to realise what this feeling
means I find that I am no more successful than the Buddhist
sage. There is a very good philosophical reason for^the fact
that Buddha has not taught anything definite concerning Nir-
vana, that, in fact, he condemned as heresy any attempt at
such definition. All that I could say is the following: The
longing for Nirvana signifies the longing for relief from the
fetters of nature; it is the common human longing for libera-
tion which ultimately underlies all eschatological conceptions.
This liberation will be related to a positive idea in a man who
has a strong ego-consciousness; he will imagine eternal life or,
if he is more thoughtful, like the Brahmin, a condition beyond
all individualisation in which, after dispensing with his person-
ality, he would become himself in an even higher degree. But
what of him who lacks ego-consciousness? The same effort
towards liberation leads him to totally different psychical
formations. What he wants is simply to escape from nature;
he knows no other longing. Where the consciousness of nature
is omnipotent and the ego hardly existent, self -consciousness
cannot reach a degree of positive assertion. The longing to
get beyond the realm of appearance is the metaphysical ex-
perience of the Buddhist It is his ultimate experience — beyond

CHAP. 8 KANDY 51

this he does not question. And if anyone should question
further, he only proves that he misunderstands.

THIS is the third day which I have spent almost exclusively
in the atmosphere of the Buddhist church. I have attended
a great many services, have talked to priests and monks and
I spent many hours in the cool and homely temple-library up
in the Cupola with the beautiful view over the lake. I have
studied the Pali texts while the sound of the litanies or the
shrill notes of the clarionet, which, accompanied by the beat-
ing of drums, calling the faithful to prayer, rose up from the
hall beneath. Once more I am made aware that the knowledge
of the abstract content of a teaching does not by any means
make one know it} there are always surprises in store for the
man who realises what they mean in the concrete. No matter
whether a church represents the *pure' doctrine — it is the living
expression of its spirit. Even if a church has demonstrably
misrepresented its doctrine, this doctrine becomes more appar-
ent in it than in the most perfectly preserved original text,
just as even a cripple expresses life better than the best theory
of it.

I must confess that the Buddhist priest surprises me by the
level to which he attains. I do not mean his mental level but
his human onej his type is superior to that of the Christian
priest. He possesses a gentleness, a capacity for understanding,
a benevolence, an ability to rise above events which even the
most prejudiced person would scruple to describe as charac-
teristic of the average Christian priest. The reason for this is
undoubtedly the perfect disinterestedness which Buddhism
develops in its disciples. In theory it may seem more beautiful
to live for others instead of for oneself, but if you take men as
they are, active love of their neighbours does not make them
more generous but more mean in heart} it is only in exceptional
cases that it does not develop into importunity and ^tyranny.
How tactless are all the people who insist on improving their
fellows ! How narrow-minded are the missionaries ! No mat-
ter how open-hearted a man be by nature — no matter if the

52 CEYLON PART ii

faith he confesses be the most universal in the world — the mere
desire for proselytising limits him, for psychologically it
always signifies the same thing: the imposition of your own
view upon another human being. Anyone who does this is
ipso facto limited, and anyone who does it continuously or
even professionally must needs become more and more limited
from day to day. For this reason meanness, aggressiveness,
tyranny, lack of tact and lack of understanding, are typical
traits of the Christian and especially of the Protestant priest.
A religion such as Buddhism, which teaches the care for per-
sonal salvation as the only motive in existence, is incapable of
evoking such traits. It would appear that in their place Bud-
dhism should develop the crassest egoism, but this does not
happen for two reasons: firstly, personal salvation in Buddhism
does not imply the eternal bliss of the individual but, on the
contrary, the liberation from the limits of individuality; ego-
istic desires therefore signify misunderstanding, because benefi-
cence and compassion appear to the Buddhist as virtues whose
practice favours and accelerates more than anything else the
liberation from the ego. It is this combination of the ideals of
disinterestedness and love of your neighbour, then, which
has produced the atmosphere which above everything else
gives its superiority to Buddhism, I mean the specifically
Buddhist form of charity. Charity in the Christian sense
means wishing to do good; in the Buddhist sense it means
wanting to let every one come into his own at his own level.
And this does not imply any indifference to the condition in
which another man finds himself, it means that it implies the
sympathetic understanding for the positive qualities of every
condition. According to the general Indian point of view every
man stands precisely on the level to which he belongs, to which
he has risen or fallen by his own deserts. Every state there-
fore is inwardly justified. Of course it would be desirable that
every one should reach the highest level, but this cannot be
attained by a jump but only by a slow and gradual rise, and
each level has its special ideal. Whilst Christianity, as long as
it was ascetic, judged the life of the world to be inferior to that
of the monk and would have loved to place the whole of man-

CHAP. 8 KANDY 53

kind at one swoop into the cloister, Buddhism, whose attitude
is in principle more inimical to the world than the original
Christian attitude and regards the condition of the monk
expressly as the highest form of life, nevertheless refrained
from condemning the lower states for the sake of the higher
ones. Every state is necessary and in so far as it is necessary
it is good. The blossom does not deny the leaf and the leaf
does not deny the stalk nor the stalk the root. To be friendly
to man does not imply the desire to change all the leaves into
blossoms, but it does imply letting the leaves be leaves and
understanding them lovingly. This marvellous and superior
form of love is written on the most insignificant face of every
Buddhist priest. Now I am no longer surprised at the un-
paralleled veneration which the Buddhist priest enjoys among
the people. At first sight it seems paradoxical that the man
who is disinterested should enjoy more veneration than the
one who actively concerns himself for the benefit of his
f ellows; in practice this is the same everywhere. Men do not
wish to be tutoredj he who tries to convince others is at much
greater pains to do so than the man who unintentionally and
without ulterior motives does for himself what seems right to
him. The intentless, selfless, pure life which the Bhikshu
leads is, according to Buddhist theories, the highest which a
man can lead. Thus he who serves the monks, serves his own
ideal.

The atmosphere of this Church is wonderful to me. I have
never before been amid such peace. And yet I realise more
dearly than ever that Buddhism is an impossible religion for
Europeans. To be as creative and positive as Buddhism has
been among the Cingalese, the spiritual material must differ
accordingly — it must differ very considerably from that which
we could supply. In our case, we who say yea to the world,
who cannot rest, whose whole energy is kinetic, living f or^our
own salvation would immediately develop into crass egoism,
general compassion and good intentions would degenerate
into the silliest prevention of cruelty to animals business, and
the strife for Nirvana would manifest all the evils which dis-
honesty against oneself inevitably brings in its wake.

54 CEYLON PART n

Southern Buddhism is undoubtedly only suited to inhabit-
ants of the tropics j one must never forget that. But, once this
is admitted, and it is really clear that Buddhism is necessarily
related to a gentle and indolent form of nature, then we cannot
but admire the formative power which it has evinced* It is
almost inconceivable to what a degree Buddhism has ennobled
the masses. I have not yet been in India, but, unless all reports
are false, there is no doubt that the effect of the teaching of the
Brahmins has not been nearly so beneficial to the lower orders j
in fact, their teachings have never fully recognised them. The
great deed, socially and politically, of Buddha consists in the
fact that he removed the clear-drawn distinction between
esoteric and exoteric wisdom, and that, like Christ, he pro-
claimed a gospel for all. The character of this gospel, as I
have already observed, was designed to suit very special cir-
cumstances. All traditional accounts agree in saying that, in
giving the Hinayana doctrines, which are professed by the
Southern Church, Buddha did not reveal the whole of his
wisdom, but only such portions thereof as could be beneficial
to the less highly developed Southerners. As a teaching, it is
really rather elementary and hardly adequate . to cultivated
minds. But then the wisdom with which it adapts itself to the
soul of the people is amazing. In this connection it is superior
to the teachings of the Brahmins and to those of Christ. Brah-
minism did, in fact, develop a special teaching ad usum populi,
but there the best and profoundest qualities of its teaching
were lacking* The Brahmins contented themselves with the
conceited assumption that the plebs could never do justice to
their doctrines. The message of Christ is indeed addressed
to all and sundry, but it is addressed to them lock, stock and
barrel, from the angle of an absolute ideal, without any regard
for reality. No matter how much the Catholicism of the Mid-
dle Ages has attempted to bridge this difficulty, it is a weakness
which it is unable to eradicate altogether. The Catholic
Church, like the Brahmins, differentiated between a higher
and a lower form of truth, and the masses in both cases are
the posers. Protestantism, the last attempt to make the pure
spirit of the Gospels effective, robbed Christianity, on the one

CHAP, 8 KANDY . 55

hand, of its formative power (Lutheranism), or else it caused a
reversion to the religious type belonging to the Old Testament
(Calvinism). It is not true that the spirit of Jesus Christ has
ever been understood fundamentally by the masses of people
who confess His faith. His influence has been everywhere
one which has acted from the surface to the centre, and in most
cases it has remained to the last an external manifestation.
How glaring is the contrast between the profession of the
average Christian and the manner of his life! You do not
notice this contrast in Buddhist people. Buddha formulated
his teaching in so masterly a manner that it has taken real
possession of the souls of those who profess it. By means of
simple, easily comprehensible phrases and directions, he em-
bedded the deepest wisdom in the heart of the simple man, so
deep that neither superstition nor practical aberration has ever
succeeded in repressing the essential Buddhist outlook. Bud-
dhist virtues are the virtues of most Buddhists to an amazingly
high degree.

Whence this advantage of the doctrine of Gautama, whence
his capacity of giving so effective a form to his profound recog-
nition? It is impossible to analyse genius. And yet I think
there is one general consideration of great importance: namely,
that Buddha was the offspring of a ruling house.

Talent, brains, intelligence, metaphysical profundity, or
the power of religious intuition are neither dependent upon
noble birth nor are they their natural attributes. On the con-
trary, men of noble birth are rarely one-sided enough to de-
velop one special talent to the utmost. In far-sightedness and
ability to rule and govern, on the other hand, the aristocrat
always has the advantage of the plebeian. He alone stands
above every party by nature, is without resentment of any
kind, only he has a purely objective relation to the weaknesses
of men, for the very reason that he rarely suffers subjectively
from these influences. And for this reason he excels, when it is
a question of considering men as a whole and doing justice to
their collective needs, even the more talented individual of low
extraction. The whole teaching of Buddha bears unmistakably
the stamp of such a princely mind} he was a typical Kshattrya.

56 CEYLON PART ii

In philosophical profundity he was far behind the Brahmins }
in fact, he did not attach too much importance to philosophy,
like most politicians and military leaders j but, as no one before
him in India, he understood and knew men, knew how to do
justice to their needs and allow for their weaknesses j and he
succeeded in issuing his commandments in such a form that
they resulted not only in a religious but also in a political and
social optimum. At this point Buddhism proves itself decid-
edly superior to Christianity. Buddha, the son of princes, the
man above party, gave the world a doctrine which did not
negate specially anything in existence (it negates everything
which passes away at one fell swoop) and for this reason it
could excite no intolerance and lead every one equally along
the path of positive good- Christianity was originally a re-
ligion of the proletariat j it was in opposition to the favoured
classes from the beginning. Prejudice in favour of lives which
have failed and resentment against those who are happy belong
to the soul, if not to the spirit, of this religion, and it therefore
carries, wherever it turns, the seed of disruption. It is of the
greatest significance that the religion of peace $ar excellence
has caused the greatest discontent. No matter how high-
minded its founder was, his mind was not superior to the
problems of the world.

How charming is the worship of the Buddhist! When the
sun has gone down, the bellman calls the community to prayer}
then these gentle brown creatures, with their long, bluish-
black glossy hair and their exquisite hands (men and women
are scarcely distinguishable) stream into the Dalada Maligawa.
All who can afford it, present a candle, and every one carries an
offering of blossoming flowers. The kindly priest in his yellow
garment ^stands before the sanctuary in which the tooth of
Buddha is enshrined behind the glistening golden door with
its precious decorations, and he receives the gifts of the com-
munity with an encouraging smile.— Even in Ceylon, where
the original teaching exists in all its purity, Buddha is wor-
shipped as God by the people, and he is surrounded by many
other mythical creatures— angels, saints, Hindu gods and
divinities from the Tamyl Pantheon. Marvellous to relate,

CHAP.S KANDY 57

however, all tnese excrescences have failed to divert the signifi-
cance of the teachings of Buddha, nor have they reduced its
power of manif estation. As far as I know the Church has
never attempted to oppose the growth of myths. Here the
world of appearances is almost insignificant5 these people are
born with the teaching of Maya. Myths are never taken quite
seriously, and no one concerns himself whether one confirms or
contradicts another. Every one knows it: concepts belong to
the vegetative life of the mind which grows and buds and blos-
soms as a matter of course — all essentials belong to a different
dimension. The teachings of Buddha apply to all, irrespective
of their confession, just as Buddha never attempted to destroy
in his disciples their belief in their gods. He only taught them
that even the gods, like all appearances, are insubstantial and
transitory.

How infinitely more easy it is for the inhabitants of the
tropics to evince profound religious thought than it is for one
of us! Of course, no concept is necessarily related to its meta-
physical reason} Buddhism is right. The Westerner, however,
is organised physiologically in such a manner that he cannot
recognise this truth without further ado. He is too much
entangled in the realm of appearances to attain the necessary
distance for judging them. Hence the enormous importance
played by dogmas in the history of Christianity. For Chris-
tianity as a religion, it was a question of life or death as to
which concept a man professed. Excrescences and new de-
velopments, which by themselves were insignificant com-
pared with those which have grown up round the doctrines of
Buddha without in any way endangering them, have robbed
Christianity at times of its very spirit. And for this reason it
seemed really essential to fight for the 'true f aith' and to
demonstrate the relation of the deity to the world in concepts
valid by themselves, because our path can only lead to signifi-
cance through the media of appearances j for this reason
again, every appearance which does not express its immediate
significance leads the mind into channels where it gets lost.
How infinitely better off are the inhabitants of the tropics!
They do not need to search for correspondingly exact ex-

5g CEYLON PART n

pressionj every form, or none at all, suits them. For, thanks
to their mere physiology, they are conscious, as a matter of
course, of the very things which, among us, are only revealed
to an exceptional mind. t .

Thanks to this fortunate fundamental trait, tendencies which
among Northerners have acted as destructive elements, take
on a beneficent form among the Cingalese: I am thinking of
the tendency to fanaticism. This morning I wandered afield
and visited a distant and insignificant temple which is hardly
ever visited by foreigners} it was inhabited by a real fanatic, a
type of such a passionate temperament as I would never have
suspected among this gentle, sexless people. At first he was
suspidous and cautious, and addressed a series ^ of questions to
me, as elementary as Wotan addressed to Mime, or Gurne-
manz to Parsifal. Like them, I failed at first to replyj there
is no more certain trick of delivering your opponent into^the
disgrace of ignorance than to enquire after absolutely obvious
things, for in the first moment the innocent suspects some dis-
tant meaning behind the obvious. This method was particu-
larly successful in my case, because, in my endeavour to enter
into the mental processes of my interrogator, I entirely forgot
to answer him. When, however, I eventually succeeded in
proving that I was not altogether ignorant of Buddhism, his
heart went out to me. Yes, he was a fanatic, one who was
passionately in earnest in the cause of truth, and who was filled
with fury by those who misconstrued the true doctrine. — Did
he want to fight against them? — No, what for? What good
would it do if the same people professed new concepts? — Did
he not intend to influence their souls directly? — Yes, he would
like to do that, but could much be gained that way? You had
to be prepared for the teaching to be effective, and that was just
what his evil contemporaries were not prepared for. Their
souls were manifestly too young. It was his conviction that
the only method of eradicating error from this world was that
every individual who knew the truth should strive with the
utmost energy to achieve his personal perfection. This would
give an example more effective than any mania for prosely-
tising.— The only way in which this fanatic expressed his out-

CHAP.S KANDY 59

look was, after all, in the greater intensity which he devoted
to his own perfection, and that he suffered his fellow-men a
little less gladly.

This discussion with the half -naked man in his yellow gar-
ment of penitence taught me a great deal. We conversed in
the courtyard of the temple, in the shadow of a bodhi-tree. A
few earnest female ascetics in white robes listened reverently,
while a swarm of brown children with gleaming eyes and gaily
coloured scarves round their loins thronged inquisitively and
noisily about us on all sides.

I AM already so accustomed to the presence of the monks
that I would not like to be without them. There is something
so extraordinarily peaceful in the regularity with which they
perform their duties. Now they are going with their beggars'
bowls into the town to fetch their daily meal5 then they go to
bathe and to meditate, then they give lessons in holy writ and
religion — everything is done at its appointed time. I am begin-
ning, like the Cingalese, to regard these people as a portion of
myself. For them they signify the incarnation of their ideal,
the living image of what every one ought to be like. There is
nothing to which man is more deeply attached than such
symbolic images, even there, where they suggest to him, in
Goethe's words: 'constant reproach.' These Bhikshu images,
however, are not in any way associated in the minds of the
Cingalese with the idea of reproachj the teachings of Buddha
in their wisdom have obviated from the beginning all possi-
bility of resentment. Even if the monk leads the best of lives,
his truth in no way denies that of any otherj every one has a
right to his own place. How delightful it is to serve an ideal
which is so understanding and so generous! Especially since
so little is needed to attain to it! — It is usual to consider Bud-
dhism as a pessimistic philosophy, and, according to the strict
letter, this is true. Since the letter, especially where we meet
with it again and again, undoubtedly permits us to draw con-
clusions concerning the mind of him who penned it, the possi-
bility cannot be rejected that Buddha himself, at any rate at

60 CEYLON PART ii

times, experienced pessimism in our sense of the word. Why
else should he have spoken constantly of suffering? For in
fact he has made suffering the headstone of the corner in his
teaching.— But modern Buddhism lacks every suspicion of
pessimism, it transfuses life, quite on the contrary, with the
mild glamour of peaceful joy. Nirvana signifies primarily the
same to the inhabitants of the tropics as eternal bliss to the
Westerner} almost everything which causes us to regard Bud-
dhism as a pessimistic philosophy is characterised in the con-
sciousness of its disciples as a blessed revelation. But this
is not all. It is, above all, the certainty that salvation is not
difficult to achieve which secures for the Buddhist of Ceylon
so happy and so peaceful an existence. How simple are the
rules which must be followed! How little wearying is the life
even of those who have, as monks, finally embarked upon
the path of salvation! Neither austerity nor efforts which are
beyond any man's means are expected of him. As a result, the
men in the yellow garments appear, not only joyous, but mostly
cheerful as well. It seems to me that the teachings of Buddha
have won for tropical men what Luther conquered for the
Northerner: the possibility of a blessed existence in this world.
Buddha, as well as Luther, denied the authority of the Church
and declared man responsible; they both taught a doctrine
according to which all differences between men are non-exist-
ent, in which the inspired mortal is no nearer to his Maker
than the simpleton. Both of them have given a halo to every-
day life. It is true, of course, that Buddha did not get rid of
the monastic orders j in fact, he raised them, on the contrary,
to unprecedented importance. But then in India, monastic life
does not mean the same as it does with us. It does not repre-
sent an abnormal and extraordinary phenomenon, it only makes
the condition in which every one lives normally, after he has
done his business, appear organised. If I stayed long enough
in Ceylon I fancy I too would experience the longing to wear
the yellow toga.

Yes, these monks are delightful people. If I consider their
peculiarity, I must, however, recognise that in them the wrea
mediocritas seems idealised, for there is nothing really admi~

CHAP. 8 KANDY 61

rable in them. In Buddhist monasticism the disadvantages of
too easy an idealism appear perhaps more prominently than
anywhere else. At first this idealisation of mediocrity does in
fact sublimate itj it acquires profundity. Lutheran fervour
and Buddhist tolerance signify positive conditions which could
only be achieved through the medium of such idealisation.
On the other hand, it prevents the approach to a higher level,
it causes relaxation, and is opposed to noble strife. This, of
course, is the same wherever mankind is offered an ideal whose
emulation is not impossible j for only the impossible can be
aspired to without the possibility of retrogression. These dis-
advantages are not so serious in the case of Buddhism as they
are in that of Lutheranism, because no high form of idealism
can exist in the air of the tropics. The disadvantages exist, for
all that. It is probable that even among the Cingalese more im-
portant types could be produced than actually exist, if only
the Bhikshu did not embody their uttermost ideal.

IN fact, the real difference between Buddhism and Chris-
tianity is greater than the theoretical consideration of the rules
and regulations, which agree in so many respects in both sys-
tems, would allow us to suppose. The essential shade of
difference seems to me to have been seized upon by the Chinese
statesman, who differentiated Oriental ethics from those of the
West by saying that the Oriental teaching commands: Do
to no one that which thou wouldest not have done to theej and
the Occidental doctrine says: Do unto others as thou wouldest
that they do unto thee. The former is essentially reticent, the
latter essentially aggressive. And this is true. The love to-
wards their fellows of the Buddhists differs from the Christian
attitude in nothing more than in the fact that it does not aim at
any amor mititans. From our point of view, such love is too
lax and cool, and in spite of all its profundity of mind, too
reasonable to appear great. This is admitted, but how should
active love appear as an ideal to one who does not take seriously
the individual with his joys and griefs? The insignificance of
the individual is presupposed as a matter of course in the case

62 CEYLON PART H

of the Buddhist, whereas, in the case of the Christian, the
fundamental assumption is the inestimable value of the human
soul. The general Indian ideal of detachment has found its
extreme historical realisation in Buddhism.

Every true sage will personally prefer the Indian ideal, and
justifiably so. Anyone whose centre of consciousness is an-
chored beyond the stream of phenomena, cannot possibly con-
tinue his ideals on the surface. Independence will not make
such a man cold or indifferent, because he has risen already
on the ladder of life to such a high level that pure giving
is for him the highest joy, and his well-wishing no longer
requires his dependence. That the whole of India recognises
the ideal of the sage as her own is due to the fact that her
philosophy of life was thought out and invented by sages.
But in Brahmanic India the ideal of detachment is general
only in so far as the latter are regarded as the highest type
of humanity, and this type should be detached. Those whose
life is on a lower level, on the contrary, are taught that they
should bind themselves, and that it is only thanks to the shock
which is occasioned by the interchange of joy and suffering
that they can hope for any form of progress. Buddhism has
raised the specific ideal of its sages to be applicable to the
generality of men.

Buddha's achievement is the logical consequence of his
Anatma theory. If there is no I, if there is no substance be-
yond the flow of conditions of consciousness, then it is sense-
less to accept appearances as things of value even temporarily,
after the manner of the Brahmins. This shows with rare clar-
ity that erroneous theoretic presuppositions inevitably result in
pernicious practical consequences} this is true even if they
almost escape notice by themselves, and if the sphere of their
effectiveness is considerably reduced by ideas emanating from
a Afferent spirit. Buddhism has overlooked in one important
direction all differences between men: this has brought them
all to one level, and its lofty ideal of charity could not prevent
this.^ Compared with Christians, Buddhists in the mass appear
strikingly colourless and lacking in character. The detachment
ideal acts as a damper to the vitality of all who are not sages by

CHAP. 8 KANDY 63

birth. Average man can perfect himself only by assenting to
everything vital in him, by plunging deeply into this life. If
he leaps his barriers prematurely, he withers. For this reason
the Buddhists of Ceylon are lovable, spiritually cultured, good
and sometimes even wise people, but they are never complete.
In this connection Christianity seems undoubtedly superior
to Buddhism. Christianity, too, exercises a levelling influence,
but if one ideal should be valid for all, then the Christian ideal
of attachment is the more desirable. Christian love is anything
rather than superior to this world; its root, its actions, its
realisation, are inextricably bound up with it, and since it affirms
its link to the soil, it awakens all the spirits of life. And the
fundamental Christian commandments of readiness to help,
working for the glory of God and for the salvation of the
world, keep men in constant tension. This, then, explains the
unique efficacy of the Christian faith in relation to the progress
of life on earth. Effectiveness does not necessarily imply
metaphysical truth, but it does so in this case. If phenomena
are taken seriously at all, then the consciousness of the attach-
ment signifies, not only the practical, but also the prof ounder
consciousness as opposed to that of detachment. He who can
love in earnest is prof ounder than the cool sceptic. Only that
which is plainly positive has absolute value. Of course, it is
possible to be positive and independent simultaneously, but this
never applies to a man who is indifferent, for he is negative.
The very element which signifies freedom on the highest level
of existence expresses itself on a lower one as courage to be
dependent, courage to suffer, to .sacrifice and to lose. Hence
the average Christian who accepts joy and sorrow cheerfully
is on the better road than the average Buddhist.

THUS, Southern Buddhism — to express it in one phrase —
signifies the ideal religion of mediocrity. It contains no acceler-
ating motive, it favours no high idealism; it does not raise or
make more profound. In the one-sided light of Buddhism the
highest form of existence appears as no more valuable than the
lowest. Every definite form of life is evil, Nirvana alone

64 CEYLON PART n

offers salvation, and a raising of the human condition in no
way leads nearer to Nirvana. Such an outlook on the world
gives to a great man, as Buddha was himself, an unique superi-
ority, Nothing is more grandiose than a contempt of life
on the part of one who, in the eyes of everybody, embodies the
highest value. The small man is not m^ade greater by it. On
the other hand, it does not spoil him, which is what Christianity
does, in proclaiming blessed the lowly, and in persuading him
that he is more than a great man. Buddhism, imbued by a
princely spirit, allows validity to every condition $er se. The
prince remains a prince for him, the servant a servant, before
God as much as before men. The empirical differences are
without transient significance for him. The prince, as prince,
is no nearer to God than the slave, as the Egyptians thought,
nor is the latter nearer to Him because he is lowly, as certain
Christians would have us believe. Regarded from the angle
of the goal, every condition appears to be of equal value.
Thus Buddhism cultivates in the soul of the lowly individual
a detachment, a superiority, which would otherwise only fall
to the lot of favoured mortals. It does not cultivate an atmo-
sphere of cheerful endurance in the hope of eternal reward,
as in the case of the suffering Christians, nor Epictetus* Atar-
ania, — nor the cynicism of a Diogenes — both of which are ex-
pressions, not of real freedom, but of protection by the armour
of reason — but it cultivates the superiority of the grand sei-
gneur. I have met again and again with qualities in middle-
class Buddhists which I conceived possible only in great men of
this world: proof enough of the psychological genius of the
son of the Sakyans. — The other day, for purposes of compari-
son, I re-read Thomas a Kempis, who is regarded as a shining
light by the whole of Christianity, and I confess that I felt
disgusted. How very inferior is the state of soul which ex-
presses itself in imitation! This grovelling before God, this
undignified subordination, this constant fear of doing things
badly, this process of torturing oneself for the sake of eternal
bliss, has something offensively plebeian in it. And yet
Thomas a Kempis possessed without doubt a pure and a noble
mind. His outlook had been spoilt by a traditional education

CHAP. 8 KANDY 65

which assisted an absurd relation between God and the world
as though empirical inferiority possessed metaphysical value
by virtue of its inferiority. In distinguished individuals
among Christians this heresy had probably done little damage
because it ne^er controlled their lives directly, but rather
assumed a contrapuntal relation to them5 all the more did it
reduce the stature of the man who was small by birth. It has
throttled every potential superiority from the beginning, in
encouraging men not to rise above their condition} it has, more-
over, implanted and ripened in their souls a sort of meta-
physical malicious pleasure in the discomfiture of others, a
spiritual haughtiness, whose practical climax is the assump-
tion that mediocrity as such has a right to support and comfort*
To-day, when this idea is dissociated from eschatological con-
cepts and associated with social ones, its effect is more repulsive
than ever and has often filled me with serious apprehension as
to the future of Western culture.

Surely it is a matter of tremendous import whether spiritual
truths are revealed and fostered by psychological and philo-
sopical csdentes or nescientes.' Jesus was not less enlightened
than Buddha. His consciousness has been excelled in pro-
fundity only by very few of the Indian sages, and the signifi-
cance of his teachings implies a gospel which mankind will
never deny. But he lacked in every way the powers of analyt-
ical thought, he never found dear concepts in his own mind
to account for his knowledge, and it is therefore not surpris-
ing that all too many of the teachings which are based upon the
letter of his preaching, embody more misunderstanding than
revelation. What sort of humility is it on which so much
depends? Not subordination and lack of dignity, but pure
receptivity towards the influences which emanate from the
prof oundest depths. In what way ought one to love one's
neighbour more than oneself and sacrifice one's ego? Not in
the sense that other lives are more valuable than one's own, but
in so far as the highest ideal is, like the sun, only to give and
not to take. In how far is inferiority to be preferred to great-
ness? Not in so far as the lowly'are more pleasing in the sight
of God, but because the latter feel induced to dbg to appear-

66 CEYLON PART n

ances in a lesser degree, and so on. The true, that is to say the
objectively correct, significance of Christian teaching has hardly
been understood by Christianity up to the present, Chris-
tianity has, therefore, given us, apart from treasures of good,
also a rich harvest of evil. It has lowered the mental level
of the Westerner. The disgusting materialism of our day
is the grandchild of the mediaeval struggle towards heaven }
the increasing danger of a dictatorship of the vulgar plebs over
finer and mentally superior elements is the immediate conse-
quence of the fact that the poor in spirit have been proclaimed
blessed for more than a thousand years. At last they have
believed that they alone are of real and intrinsic value, and
they are now drawing the practical conclusion from this belief.
The religious leaders of India knew the significance of their
revelation, and they took every care to prevent misrepresen-
tation. They knew very well how corrupting such misinter-
pretations may come to be, in view of the essential paradox
(from the point of view of the world) of every spiritual
truth. And for this reason the average Buddhist, no matter
what his faults may be, appears to be the child of a nobler
spirit than his brother in the West.

THE timg has come when I turn once more to my body in
order to examine what has happened to it in the tropics. I find
that it has undergone no unimportant change. The change is
similar to that experienced by my soul: my body too has been,
if it is permissible to coin a word, buddhified. My reactions
to external influences are different now, and I enjoy and suffer
in a different formj my needs have changed, and this pro-
gressive metamorphosis brings me nearer to the Cingalese
every day. I am sure that, if I fell ill, I would have to imbibe
other healing draughts than I would at home. In all proba-
bility the household remedies of Ceylon would be more benefi-
cial to me than the mixtures of our tropical clinics. At the
same time, there is no question of a change in my real centre of
gravity. I can therefore doubt no longer that the power of
acclimatisation depends entirely upon the degree of one's

CHAP. 8 KANDY 67

imagination. The fact that the inhabitants of hot countries
flourish better in northern latitudes than vice versa, and that
most tropical animals can endure a northern climate fairly
well, whereas those from the north rarely survive the tropics
for long, is due — if I disregard specific circumstances — to the
fact that severer conditions of life inevitably stimulate vitality,
whereas luxuriant conditions can only be supported by those
who are trained to them from birth. Animals, too, possess
very little free imagination. Man, who possesses it in a suffi-
cient degree, ought to be able to live in any climate and, as a
matter of fact, he can. All he must do is to adjust his manner
of life to the peculiarities of his surroundings, in order not to
upset the biological balance, and anyone possessing imagina-
tion acquires this knowledge by instinct. The unimaginative
naturally succumb in the process of such experiments. Just
as the animal, whose actual mode of being is his only means
of expression, withers away in unusual surroundings, no North-
erner can assert himself in the tropics if he lacks this power
of transformation. In this connection it is interesting to ob-
serve that Englishmen flourish pretty well here in spite of
the fact that they retain the British mode of life,. which, as
such, is the most unhealthy that can be imagined for the
tropics. The explanation, and at the same time a new proof of
it, is the fact that the Britisher possesses, of all Europeans, the
most concentrated powers of imagination. For there are two
kinds of rigidity: one which is the result of incapacity, and
another which implies the utmost tension. The latter variety
is well known enough in the case of the Stoics: the sage never
loses his equilibrium because he is entirely complete in him-
self. It would appear that the same must be assumed in the
case of men whose bodies take no harm in any latitude,
although they do not change. Thanks to centuries of physical
culture, the British organism has developed into a world of
its own so much that external circumstances affect it only
slowly, if at all. And for this reason it is really more im-
portant for him to consider his personal tendencies than the
climate in which he lives.— This trait of the Englishman is,
from a practical point of view, the most advantageous} if for

68 CEYLON PART n

no other reason, for the remarkable simplification of the prob-
lem of life which it involves. But he who strives for recog-
nition can thank his Maker that his imagination has not yet
become a power of cohesion, but goes on expressing itself in
change. Such a man, thanks to the plasticity of his being, is
in equilibrium with the world, and his equilibrium is the more
reliable in so far as no serious shock need be catastrophic,
which is generally the case in the rigid individual. But above
all things, the versatile man alone is capable of perceiving the
true significance of his surroundings, because he alone is di-
rectly influenced by them and consequently capable of entering
into sympathetic relations with them.

YESTERDAY at sundown I saw birds of the size of eagles,
flying in great hordes up the valleyj and then I suddenly
recognised that they were not birds _ but— bats. ^They were
flying dogs. — Strange how little surprise one feels in the midst
of tropical surroundings at the unexpected! Apparently, our
minds are prepared here for the most powerful contrasts, in
the same way as our bodies, once accustomed to extremes of
light and dark, regard the most curious phenomenon as normal.
Would I be surprised if, in the midst of the jungle, I met with
a god? Hardly. He could not appear more incredible than
. so many creatures do, which I behold before me ^ every day.
The compass of possibilities is so large in the tropics that one
learns to be neither surprised nor appalled. The strongest con-
trast, speaking objectively, which I have observed so far is the
one between the exquisitely blue sea lapping against the palm
trees on Mount Lavinia and the dreadful, armoured and evilly
black-looking crabs which crawl sideways along the strand in
hundreds. No animal would look better in hell, and if I
perceived one on a northern shore, I am sure it would call forth
the most horrible images in my soul. On those of Ceylon,
however, I am delighted by their appearance. Even if I were
to imagine them enlarged hundreds of times — as a rule, the
surest way of being horrified — they do not look any more grue-
some for all that. Thus it is quite probable that the gigantic

CHAP. 8 KANDY 69

saurians of the prehistoric world, which, viewed in our own,
would spread fear and terror, might, in their natural sur-
roundings, which must undoubtedly have displayed greater
contrasts even than the tropical world to-day, have appeared
as quaint and amiable creatures.

TO-MORROW I begin a carriage tour through the interior of
Ceylon. I spent the last few days exclusively in observing
nature, in order not to enter the jungle without any kind of
knowledge of it* I find it extraordinarily difficult to see in the
light of the tropics. The excess of light prevents all shading
of colours to such an extent that even the most gaily tinted
creature seems almost invisible against its coloured background j
and thus the forests round Kandy seem to be more lifeless
than any which I have seen hitherto*

I succeeded at last to-day, after having turned over hundreds
of stones and poked in many rotting tree-stumps, in catching a
glimpse of one of those enormous centipedes which inhabit
the tropics. They are revolting creatures. Everything in their
appearance is opposed to the positive tendencies of human
nature j every one of their peculiarities, adapted or transported
to the realm of men, would make monsters of us, and I am
surprised that primitive Buddhists, who made such admirable
use of the scarecrow for furnishing their hell, entirely failed
to notice this beast. It is truly a loathsome animal. ' And yet
it could never occur to me to question its right to existence,
although this is my first thought when I behold inferior speci-
mens of humanity} these centipedes are perfect in their way.
Once the presupposition of this creature is admitted, then it
must also be granted that its execution has been admirable*

How do I know that the centipede is perfect? I am unable
to give special reasons, but the facts are evident to every one
who has the power of placing himself in the position of other
beings. There is something very peculiar about this evidence,
which is true of all perfection, because it is apparent, within
certain limits, even to the most unobservant. No example
proves the point better than that of the Englishman. When-

7o CEYLON PART ir

ever I meet one of the representatives of this people I am
shocked by the contrast between the dearth of their talents,
the limitation of their horizon and the measure of recognition
which every one of them exacts from me, as from everybody
else. Even the more eminent Englishmen (the really eminent
remain, as everywhere else, beyond the confines of generali-
sation) can hardly be taken seriously as intellectuals. They
affect me like animals who, furnished with a number of un-
erring instincts, control a certain sector of reality perfectly.
For the rest, however, they are blind and incapable. No
matter how near to the springs of life they may be, they lack
originality to an extraordinary degree. They all think, feel
and act alike, there are no surprises in the inner lives ^of any
one of them. However, I am forced to accept the British in
exactly the same way as I accept the animals} they ^ represent,
as they are, the perfect realisation of their possibilities} they
are completely what they might have been. ^ This explains
their powers of convincing others, their superiority over the
other peoples of Europe (which at present cannot reasonably
be contested)} it explains also the contagious nature of their
peculiarity. They alone are really ^ perfect in their way
amongst all Europeans, and to perfection every one bows the
knee. The infinitely richer nature of the German has not
yet found its form, and on this account he is not accepted any-
where unless there be some compelling reason. The fact that
perfection is within the realm of the attainable even for him,
is proved, however, by the one and only type of German who
has hitherto been perfectly expressed: the Austrian aristocrat.
He may not be very efficient, the same thing may be true of
him, which is so often true of cows: his breeding for cform>
may have deteriorated his 'capacity.* None the less, he is
perfect in his way. For this reason he is accepted everywhere}
he is flattered, imitated and admired, and the haughty Eng-
lishman is the first to seek intercourse with him. '

CHAP. 9 DEM BULL 71

DEMBULL

I AM not likely to forget this first portion of my coach journey
through the country. It was a long drive, through silent,
primeval forests. It led upwards to a steep, bare mountain,
into whose summit rocky temples had been chiselled. Forest
was round about me as far as the eye could reach j the extrem-
ities of its out-runners stretched with their tree-tops as far as
the outer courtyard of the Temple of Dembull; and the grey
top of the mountains looks defiant in the midst of all this
greenery. It was the interior of the sanctuary, however, which
made the greatest impression upon me. Here a miraculous
flora, transplanted, as it were, in the dead stone by the mind of
man, covers the ground. Hundreds of gaily coloured Buddhas
blossom there peacefully side by side} but in the midst of them,
every now and again, just as we find weeds in the centre of a
well-tended flower-bed, we meet with a full-blown Hindu god.
Thus Nature can never deny herself. Nothing seems less in
accordance with the spirit of Him who has overcome the world
than such a flora of sculptured saints before which the faithful
bow in prayer j Gautama would probably have destroyed them
himself. And yet the Cingalese are right} they see no antago-
nism between this lovely garden and the stern sermon of
Buddha. This bed of flowers means nothing but the teaching
of the nothingness of existence} it is this teaching itself which
is expressed in the language of the tropical zone.

A recumbent Buddha, just chiselled out of the rock, gives
the effect of an independent being. He lies there alone, ab-
stracted, solitary amidst his seated counterparts} he is as lonely
among them as the bare top of the mountain is in the midst of
the greenery. Yet he does not seem to be unique or of a differ-
ent substance from the rest} it is only in appearance that he
possesses a life of his own. It is in this way presumably that
Gautama himself regarded his personality. No matter how
unique and lonely and omnipotent he may have appeared to
his disciples, he knew that it was only on the surface that he

72 CEYLON PART ii

was different from them. He had already lived for a long
time in the consciousness of those depths where all multiplicity
is realised as well as resolved in unity* ... I dreamed
for a long time in front of this vision. As I looked out
through the gate over the tree-tops, I beheld hordes of
monkeys who pursued, in a silent tight-rope dance, their fodder
for the evening meal.

10
TO HABARANE

row poor is the power of receptivity of civilised man! I
[fail to differentiate all the various zones of the jungle,
with the exception of the most coarse and obvious ones, and I
think in envy of the elephant who can find his path, in a wild
district he has never visited before, as easily as we find our
road after consulting a signpost. At home, in the forests of
the north, where the eye of the hunter is accustomed to observe
delicate shades, I know my way about fairly well} but here I
am lost from the beginning. I could not explain why certain
birds only appear in this place, and not in another, which does
not look very different; nor could I say why at certain spots,
and only there, hundreds of butterflies appear. I am blind,
that is all. More favoured creatures would recognise the di-
visions and the structures of the primeval forest with their
eyes, just as mine would in the case of St. Petersburg. This is
even true of the ocean. As a matter of fact, in cases where
the most receptive of men contemplate the magnificence of uni-
formity, what actually spreads itself before one is an infinitely
rich world, no more uniform than the primeval forest. I
noticed, during my journey through the Indian Ocean, that
the flying fishes rose in masses only from certain places, and
after we had passed certain limits they were entirely missing.
And again, I observed that there, and only there, jelly-fish
reddened the water in hundreds, and that the dolphins could
be observed at their graceful games only in certain streaks. I
am sure that these facts are connected with the outlines of

CHAP, ii LAKE MINNERI 73

different conformations* I am too blind, however, to perceive
them.

What do we see? Only that which corresponds to our human
needs* In the town, on the street and in the field, perhaps we
perceive the essentials, and it is possible that we perceive cor-
rectly whole countries, such as Holland or Japan, who owe
their fundamental character to their inhabitants. But this
gauge fails entirely in places where nature has no necessary
relation to manj there, all our schemes and systems are, from
nature's point of view, mere folly. How stupid, for instance,
is the rubrication which we have adopted in regard to the sky
at night! I am rather proud of the fact that up till to-day,
although I have gazed upon the starlit sky many a night, I
have not yet discovered the Southern Cross. It is true, of
course, that I have quite intentionally not allowed anyone to
point it out to me. Once it has been shown to me, no doubt
the stars in question would have formed the same constellation
in my consciousness, just as the unhappy creature to whom
the similarity of some rock to Napoleon had been pointed out
is condemned for ever to see his image in the mountain. Men
always try to impose human connections upon non-human
ones. But this much is true, and no one can take it from me: I
have not discovered the Southern Cross for myself, which
proves that my mind has not yet lost its independence alto-
gether.

ii
LAKE MINNERI

N the days of my childhood and adolescence, when I hated
^books and found all my happiness in observing, hunting
and taming animals, this primeval lake would have seemed to
me like a paradise on earth. I have spent hours along its
shores, and again and again I have sighted new creatures. On
sandbanks there lay crocodiles resembling tree trunks guarded
by stilt-birds} cow-herons and bitterns fed among the buffa-
loes j grey- and silver-herons stood on little peninsulas and in

74 CEYLON PART n

the tree-tops. The water was covered with droves of pelicans,
kites and eagles were cradled in the airj one of these, which
was quite strange to me, silver-white with dark covering feath-
ers, was one of the most beautiful beasts of prey that I ever
saw. The snake-necked fisher-birds, however, supplied the
key to the picture, and their conventionalised form and
heraldic attitude gave a mythical turn to the whole impres-
sion.

How delightful it is to be in a world which was finally cre-
ated on the fifth day! Here all power is still unbroken, here
everything is primeval and true. Among men this is only true
of children and of the greatest and rarest individuals} the
appearance of most of them tells us nothing of their nature.
Animals are always perfect, they are always what they might
be; they are the comprehensive expression of their possibilities.
It is said, in reply to this, that they are so limited. Of course
they are limited, but this does not detract from their value. It
is not in this sense that the fact of our lesser limitation is an
advantage, but in another sense (lack of limits in itself being no
ideal), that we possess various possibilities of perfection instead
of only one. In the case of men, perfection also means the
highest possible achievement, and perfection necessitates limita-
tion. We regard the man who acts from necessity, by virtue
of an inner law, as being on a higher level than the one whose
action is dictated by his whims j we value, as the highest
thoughts, those whose expression is final. And the same is true
of art, and in fact of every expression of life. Thus even in
the human realm the ideal lies in limitation, not in independ-
ence. The respect in which we differ from animals is not in
the ideal, it is in the elements by means of which the ideal is
to be realised, ^ If this is so, I do not know why the limitation
of animals, which are always perfect in their univocal signifi-
cance, is quoted as proving how uninteresting they are. On
the contrary, it is for this very reason that they are interest-
ing, more interesting than all imperfect human beings. I, for
one, would revere as a demi-god the man who as a personality
stands on the level on which, as a product of nature, every
snake-necked fisher-bird of Lake Minneri stands. I am sure

CHAP. 1 1 LAKE MINNERI 75

I owe more enlightenment and stimulus to animals than to
most men with whom I have had prolonged intercourse* It
is too easy to survey menj the number of specimens whose
understanding demands an enlargement of our existing con-
cepts is all too rare, whereas the meanest animal requires such
an enlargement if his nature is to be fathomed. He who
wishes to understand some low sea-creatures must learn to
realise in himself a state of consciousness which may con-
ceivably be likened to that of a potentialised stomach, whose
ever so strong reactions to specific stimuli and ever so unusual
powers of physical and chemical imagination can never lead,
in their final synthesis, to more than a general and uncertain
feeling- A crayfish does not represent one, but two or three
entities; his consciousness is not centralised in our sense. Any-
one who wishes to penetrate the soul of a fox must succeed in
experiencing the powers of scent as his central sense and in re-
lating all impressions to this sense, as, in the case of men, they
are related to his sense of sight. In the case of a bird the prob-
lem is different again, and so on and so forth* This probably
explains why most truly great minds have preferred 'nature* to
human society. The latter limits, the former liberates and
helps us beyond the confines of humanity. And in so doing
it raises our consciousness of the true root of things. For at
the root all creation is one, and from the root emanate all the
forces of evolution.

How exquisitely beautiful is the evening! The lake reflects
the last light of the western sky. The screeching of the sea-
mews and the many-voiced croaking of the frogs rises to my
lodging, and the last pelicans fly majestically towards the
forest. In the immediate vicinity is a pack of wild elephants}
I have already heard them trampling. My brown host has
promised to wake me in case they should come out into the
open during the night.

ONCE more I wandered out into the playground of the ani-
mals. I have stalked many a magnificent eagle and caused
legions of water birds to flee before me. And every time when

76 CEYLON PART n

I step from the morass into the jungle, the tree-tops become
alive with long-tailed monkeys, who jump or almost fly away
at my approach.

It is amazing how much one gains during such hours of
exclusive observation! Regarded from the angle of the mind,
pictures of reality are on the same level as the creations of the
imagination} in this respect there is no essential difference be-
tween experiences and ideas. He who observes with an open
mind is productive for an equally long period; the man who
could have noticed everything would have re-created the world
by his own powers. But then the soul needs rich and various
diet if it is to flourish and develop, and no brain is creative
enough to invent its own requirements in sufficient quantityj
for this reason no one can afford to live on his own ideas.
External experience is necessary also because the mind is
never free as long as it is constantly surrounded by its own
products. All those must shrivel who confine themselves
within their own worlds, no matter how wide these may be.
Their inner life does not grow richer but poorer; they ossify
more and more in their peculiarities. I have experienced this
myself. During the years which I spent in large cities I had
ceased to look about me, because the activities of the towns did
not attract my interest. The consequence was that my ideas
began to crystallise, and I was in danger of being imprisoned
by them. At the age of seven and twenty I was very nearly
suffocated within a system I had produced myself. . . . For-
tunately I realised the danger I was in before it was too late.
Now I force myself to observe, even when I do not feel in-
clined for it; I cultivate the small zest of curiosity which I have
still preserved, and I am grateful for every impression which
tears asunder the webs which are woven by my brain.

Yes, one must know how to see. . . . Can I really do it?
In the sense and the measure in which I would like to do so,
I confess I cannot. Several times I had the intention of de-
scribing one or other of the marvels I had seen, and each time
I had to recognise that this was beyond me. That means that
I have not really seen them. Of course, it is not true that
feeling creates the power of expression — creative power and

CHAP. 1 1 LAKE MINNERI 77

the power to experience belong to different dimensions — but,
on the other hand, as I have already said, observation and
ideas, regarded from the angle of the mind, are on the same
level, so that we only realise perfectly what we might have in-
vented. In my case, I could never invert single phenomena,
and therefore I can never perceive them as such outside myself.
My imagination leads each individual phenomenon immedi-
ately back to its inner cause, and from this point of view, not
its reality, but its possibility, so to speak, appears as its essen-
tial. That this interpretation of my attitude is correct is
proved by the opposite test which can be applied to my powers
of memory. A clever friend suggested years ago that I would
have to appear at the Last Judgment with a secretary, because
my memory for events was so bad. And I really cannot re-
member any single event or fable. Conversely, however, I
seem to be incapable of forgetting a general connection; I only
have a memory for details during moments of productive ten-
sion.— How I have struggled against this limitation! Again
and again I have tried to acquire an inner relation to some
particularised subject, to enter into a single human being, a
single picture or a single period, completely and continuously;
again and again I gave myself up to the influence of minds
who possessed this quality which I lack — it was in vain. And
thus I had to content myself with the recognition that it is a
mistake to attempt to exceed one's empirical confines. One
must see to it how far one can get within them and by their
means.

There is still a great deal of uncertainty amongst psychol-
ogists and sesthetidans concerning the different kinds of our
powers of comprehension. Profundity is often assumed in
painters, and philosophers are frequently credited with pictur-
esque powers of observation. Such judgments are generally
wrong. Anyone who presents perfectly the appearance of
things, which is what the great painter or poet does, in fact
expresses its spiritual significance — but his soul may be igno-
rant of it. He who, conversely, can seize the inner meaning,
also does justice to appearances — but he does not need to be
actually aware of them. The most interesting instance of this

78 CEYLON PART n

kind is Leo Tolstoi* I do not know a more profound presen-
tation of human life than his epic on the great French war, but
I know that Tolstoi, as an individual, lacked all philosophical
profundity. As in the case of most Russians (and all other
young and undifferentiated races) Tolstoi lacked the power of
intensive abstraction, the capacity of summing up the partic-
ular in the general, which is another definition of profundity.
On the other hand, he possessed the eagle eye of the savage.
Now if anyone presents appearances which he only beholds
without understanding them, and does so perfectly, the
thoughtful reader will inevitably regard this representation as
possessing profundity — in fact, he will discover greater depths
than he would do in really prof ounder poets whose vision is
less acute.

POLLONARUWA

THE remains of past glory have never made such an im-
pression upon me as the ruins of the residence of King
Parakrama. This is not on account of their artistic perfections;
they are beautiful, but I have seen others more beautiful still.
The strength of the impression is due to the fact that I have
never hitherto been permitted to see buildings which express
the specific beauty of ruins — a beauty which is conditioned by
totally different laws than artistic beauty — to such perfection.
Ruins exercise a greater magic upon us than well-preserved
works of art, not merely because they suggest to our souls,
in the image of the past, the idea of transitoriness; nor because
the work of art corroded and worn by time stimulates us
just as the unfinished work of art does, by inducing the mind to
supply what is lacking in reality: the essential magic of ruins
is due to the fact that they show human powers of creation
as a part of the forces of the cosmos, by which transposition
they acquire an infinite background instead of the limited
background of one personality or one age. A temple in marble,
glimmering in gold, may present the highest measure of human

CHAP. 12 POLLONARUWA 79

creative effort. When time, however, has left its imprint on
the surface, when its contours display the traces of Nature's
eternal toil, then such a temple has become her integral com-
ponent. Many an image of Buddha which is preserved in the
cave-temples of Ceylon expresses the soul of the Buddhist
community in an ennobled form. But the colossal statues at
Gal Vihare, whose surface has long since assumed the character
of its surroundings, signify more than that. They are forms
of nature, like the canons, which were hollowed out by gigantic
streams in the course of thousands of years; they are like the
valleys, carved out by glaciers, and the creative power of the
human mind does not seem less but more mighty still when
placed by the side of the forces which control the courses of the
stars. The ruins of Pollonaruwa are more magnificent than
any which I have seen hitherto, because the nature of Ceylon
is incomparable in its creative exuberance, and has done its
utmost to magnify their effect. The columns and remains of
the temple, which are strewn far and wide throughout the
jungle, have themselves become part of the jungle. Plants
have substituted the decayed mortar, trees have completed
broken cupolas. Enormous daghobas, where preserved, have
become the foundation of a new nature. One sees a dead past
infused into eternally young life, like a skeleton in living flesh.
My thoughts wander irresistibly to the distant shores of
Greece. The Greek landscape cannot bear comparison with
that of the tropics, and for this reason Greek ruins are not
nearly as effective as those of Ceylon. Undoubtedly the tem-
ples of Hellas appeared greater still in their time as perfect
human creations, than they do to-day as manifestations of
nature. But what the latter in the course of time has failed
to do, the spirit of the Greeks achieved beforehand* Every
Greek sanctuary was planned originally as part of nature, and
in its necessary relation to its surroundings. As a result, the
little which has remained seems to be a component part of the
landscape so effectually that the total impression only differs
from that created in Pollonaruwa in so far as the ruins do not
belong to the living realm of nature, but to the dead realm of
mountains and the sky.— The living element is more con-

80 CEYLON PARTH

genial to my temperament than any dead perfection} for this
reason the primeval forest means more to me than the Acrop-
olis. On the other hand, the power of the Greek genius has
never impressed my consciousness more vividly than in the
midst of a landscape which has succeeded in assimilating com-
pletely the transfigured image of Gautama.

ANURADHAPURA

WHAT wonderful men the old kings who erected the gigan-
tic monuments of Ceylon must have been! These build-
ings are not memorials to idle riches, nor the whimsical crea-
tions of an uncontrolled imagination. They exhale severe and
simple greatness, which, in the midst of tropical luxury, seems
almost unnatural By the side of the rocky fortress of Sigiri,
the retreat of the father murderer, Kassyapa, the castles of
Europe seem like the toys of children j the mere bath of this
robber is a structure resembling one of the royal tombs of
Egypt These daghobas are like natural mountains, and yet it
is 'mind' in its highest meaning which gives its character to
their contours. But the wonder of wonders of Ceylon is the
rock of Mihintale, where Mahinda, the son of King Asoka,
the great apostle of Buddhism, spent and ended his days. This
retreat — a narrow terrace on the highest point of the moun-
tain, hewn by the hand of an artist out of the rock — is more
regal than anything I have yet beheld. It is overshadowed by
steep cliffs which descend abruptly to the valley in front of it.
Beneath the infinite primeval forest expands, whose holy
silence is only interrupted now and again by the trumpetings
of elephants. No one but a king could have chosen such an
eyrie for his residence. It is impossible to spend even the
briefest time in this place without progressing inwardly. Ma-
hinda appears to my imagination in the typical attitude of a
contemplating Buddha of enormous proportions, as they used
to represent him in stone. It is thus that, immovable and
gentle, he must have gazed down upon the blooming life of the

CHAP.IS ANURADHAPURA 81

valley, like a man who has, out of the fulness of his power,
renounced everything*

How well the legend has chosen its words in comparing these
rulers with tigers and elephants! That is exactly what they
were. The hothouse air of this region does not, as a rule, pro-
duce great individuals, to whose development it is unfavour-
able* The jungle is a thicket, not a forest j and its fauna, in
general, is rich and luxuriant rather than important, as regards
its individual plants. Every now and again a single tree seems
to touch heaven with its crown, but if you look more closely
you perceive that this giant is not a single entity: roots shoot
downwards from its branches, and* where the eye imagines
that it beholds a personality, it is confronted in reality with
a pedigree* The classical instance of this is embodied in the
holy Bodhi tree of Anuradhapura, which demonstrably grew
out of a cutting which King Asoka brought from Buddha-gaya.
This oldest tree of history presents itself as a young and slen-
der stripling: the thing which lives and flourishes before my
eyes is the latest descendant of the original crown of the tree
which dropped its roots down again into the earth. Growth in
Ceylon takes place at an almost giddy speed I have seen
shoots twelve months old here of a size which corresponds to
about fifteen years5 growth in Central Europe. Here trees
shoot up like grass. They die, however, equally rapidly: all
that redly lives here is youth. The same applies to animals
and men. From the point of view of type, they are^ eternally
immature j they multiply in terrifying numbers at terrific speed,
and one generation succeeds another equally quickly. ^ How-
ever, nature, which in Ceylon, as a rule, has neither time nor
inclination to create individualities, brings forth occasional spec-
imens none the less. It is as if a brake were put upon the
wheel of action. Such an inhibition to fundamental energies
results in creatures so enormous, so powerful, as no other clime
could produce: the elephant, the rhinoceros, the tiger. And
even within the realm of men, this flow of growth has been
accumulated once or twice into single personalities; they were
men of immense dimensions, who were quite rightly compared
in legend with elephants.

82 CEYLON PART n

Now I understand why, in the early days of our planet, when
palm groves still crowned both poles, those gigantic creatures
could be created and could exist whose skeletons inspire us
with incredulous surprise. Kings like Mahinda, Parakrama
Bahu, Dutthagamini, were beings of quite a different kind
from the great emperors of the East. The latter were person-
alities of such power, of such immense force of will, that their
greatness seemed independent of external circumstances} they
created the conditions which they needed. The great kings
of the tropics were not men on a smaller scale j perhaps they
were even mightier. But the reason for their existence lay to a
lesser extent in themselves, than in nature, of which they were
component parts j creatures of their peculiarity could only exist
amidst tropical luxuriance. They required an excess of food,
to be supplied to them without any effort on their part, they
needed a minimum of material resistance and surroundings
which were easily and instantly swayed according to their
wish. They could not have existed under any other conditions.
The same must have been true, once upon a time, of the
saurians. Those giants also were conditioned by their sur-
roundings} they could come into life and flourish only in the
midst of a nature which was more rich still than that of the
tropics of to-day. In those days the bulk of all created things
must have grown and died rapidly — their traces are all gone.
In consequence, the rare specimens of the age, who in the
midst of this change were destined to endure, grew to pro-
portionately greater dimensions.

The days of such greatness are past. Nature is too poor
nowadays to support life on such a monumental scale. To-
day cheapness seems more suited to our circumstances, and, as
far as mankind is concerned, its under-wood has grown too
self-conscious to allow a free road to the individual giant-tree.
It may be that this is to the good} I do not know what, per sey
is more desirable — an indifferent populace which permits the
development of great and important individuals, or a higher
general standard which only suffers the individual to rise above
its own level within very limited confines, and which throttles

CHAP.IS ANURADHAPURA 83

every offspring of the giant race. I wish it were possible for a
high general standard and giants, in the sense of the prehistoric
world, to co-exist. Unfortunately, however, intimate laws of
nature seem to oppose such a hope. No matter what attitude
we adopt, we are forced to choose one of two evils, and I for
my part confess that I would gladly sacrifice the whole race of
rabbits in order that the contemplation of an atlantosaurus
could make me forget once more the pettiness of quaternal
existence.

DURING my wanderings through the ruins to-day, I hit by
accident upon a hut which was occupied by a young English-
man, who dwells there, in the midst of hundreds of serpents.
He is an eccentric creature which only Albion could produce.
There are plenty of snake-charmers, snake-hunters, and friends
of serpents, and in the latter group I may count myself too,
for I have always taken special delight in the perfect curves of
these creatures. But more intimate contact with reptiles re-
quires a special attitude which by nature is not normal to men,
and this can be observed invariably in every Indian snake-
charmer. This Englishman, however, lives with the creatures
who share his house as if he could not do otherwise, and as if
such communion were a matter of course. They represent
nothing extraordinary to him: he neither admires them nor
does he do business with them, nor do they interest him from a
scientific point of viewj these writhing creatures signify his
natural surroundings. There were enormous pythons and
furious-looking hooded snakes in full possession of their veno-
mous stings. He had caught them all himself, and he played
about with them in front of me until I began to feel most
uncomfortable. The natives declare that he is exempt by virtue
of a talisman, but he said himself coolly that a certain amount
of dexterity and familiarity with their peculiarities makes
cobras quite harmless. It seemed to interest him when I told
him that there are effective antidotes to their poison j he him-
self had never heard of them, and never weighed the question

84 CEYLON PART n

in his mind. He noted down the address of the institution
where the serum is prepared, but I doubt whether he will ever
make use of it.

The interesting feature of this home of snakes is that the
mentality of its curious owner has created the surroundings
in which the serpents are innocuous — in the same sense in which
lunatics present no danger to both nurse and visitor in a
well-conducted asylum. People whose minds are deranged are
never really harmless, but in the asylums they are allowed to
move about freely, and there they do not, in point of fact, do
any damage. Just in the same way, cobras can never be really
tame — they are, and will remain, dull, senseless and infuriated
creatures, incapable of intelligence or friendliness. Neverthe-
less, this Englishman handled even the wildest of them with-
out being hurt, and he knew how to calm even those which
shook with fury, by placing his hand gently on their heads,
in the time-honoured way, and then pressing their heads down
slowly. In fact, in his company even I could wander about
amongst these snakes with a minimum of danger. It was an
experience which I count among the most important that I have
had. In the case of intelligent creatures, such as normal men
and women and the higher orders of animals, the enormous
influence exercised by methods of treatment and surroundings
does not seem very remarkable, because in their case psychic
limitations, of which they are conscious as so much objective
reality, signify objectively no less than material barriers. Any-
one who possesses free powers of choice at all reacts to good
and evil generally in a manner best suited to the circumstances.
Only obtuse animals and equally obtuse men are not capable of
being influenced in this sense. But lunatic asylums and this
home of serpents which I visited to-day prove that a certain
degree of influence is still possible where the question of
psychic barriers hardly arises. Here the effect is purely objec-
tive, here it depends entirely upon the intensity of effect
whether a change in behaviour results or not. Thus it is
possible to conceive surroundings even for a cobra in which
she would be harmless. Now mentally deranged people are
much happier in the asylum in which they behave themselves,

CHAP.IS ANURADHAPURA 85

than outside it. This makes me think that moral superiority
must somehow correspond to objective expediency^ and the
only interpretation I can put upon this is that moral behaviour
(I speak of behaviour, not of intention!) is nothing but the
natural expression of adaptability. Criminals are, as a rule,
very honourable among themselves, and a perfect connoisseur
of men can find true servants among the most unreliable
people. A contented man is seldom malicious, all of which
proves that expediency conditions moral behaviour. If I
translate this state of affairs into inner relations, or regard
it from an inner point of view, I can deduce that cmoral in-
stinct/ as postulated in the eighteenth century, does exist in so
far as psychic well-being is linked to external expediency, and
that every one strives after well-being. Such a 'moral instinct'
is, of course, in no sense an ethical quality j the serpent has no
character} it is only above a certain level of the development
. of the soul that the impulses of nature can be subordinated to

.5 • /i~t 1 n « • *» • ~

the spiritualisation of tendencies which, as such, already exist
in the snake. Herein is rooted the truth of the conception of
paradise. A world could no doubt be conceived in which there-
is no evil, in so far as there would be no evil intention at the
bottom of any action. We Europeans will never create a para-
dise in spite of all the charity which we wear on our sleeves,
because our animal instincts are too strong. The Indian Bud-
dhist world in many ways gives an impression of paradise, be-
cause their faith forbids them to harm an animal, and they
thus have no antagonistic relation to man. They tolerate man's
existence, as one genus tolerates that of another, remember-
ing that there is room for all. In India people are less afraid
of a tiger> and justifiably so, than they are in Europe of a stag
at rutting time. — Here we are also at the root of the truth,
which as such goes back to Plato, with which all Christian
mystics are familiar, but whose theory has been most perfected
by the Persians, the truth that divine love lives within every
one, and that it depends upon externals whether it manifests
itself or not. These externals may be inclination to a woman,

86 CEYLON PART n

the influence of appropriate surroundings, or a hard fate, which
cause the soul to change—the problem is always that the in-
strument, *man,J shall be attuned in such a way that God
may play upon it. Of course it is so.

ONCE more I wander through the gigantic town of ruins, and
the great arteries of the palace and its mighty artificial pond.
It is evening. Pious pilgrims are playing in front of the
Ruangweli-daghoba. The liturgy is intoned in a well-modu-
lated voice by a monk, and the laity job in the rhythm. The
altar is covered with blossoming gifts of flowers. Round about
the sanctuary, as far as supplies have been available, the faith-
ful have placed their candles j and now that they have been
lit and the twilight has turned to night, they stand out against
the stony background like stars against the sky. What deep
poetry lies in this service to the old relics! Here a pious
people, led by a more pious ruler, have, in the course of years
of toil, raised a mountain above a souvenir, so that it shall
never on any account come to harm. The relic in all probabil-
ity does not really come from Buddha— what does it matter?
The important fact is that it shall give content to the worship.
The lover often prefers a worthless memento to a precious one,
because the one which has no value expresses, in the purest and
most unadulterated form, the significance which it has for him.

It is most momentous that this worship of relics has been so
highly developed by a faith which attaches least importance
to anything transitory. The more transitory a possession is,
the more precious does it become to men: in this way Buddha's
assurance. that he would in every sense cease to exist after his
death, has led to the precise opposite of what he intended: his
followers cling all the more firmly to that which remained of
him. Not only have all his words been preserved faithfully,
all his teachings and the legends of his life, but his earthly re-
mains have become the object of a cult, and he himself has been
transfigured into a god. Simple folk cannot understand the
doctrine of Nirvana in the way in which the enlightened
teacher wishes to have it understood. To them, the Nirvana

CHAPES ANURADHAPURA 87

of the Perfected One signifies that, although removed beyond
the realm of time, He continues all the more eternally. But,
of course, they feel no certainty, for the monks daily teach
them the reverse. Prayer therefore assumes, in these holy
places, the character of Mass said for departed souls. A sweet
melancholy reverberates through the liturgy, like the atmos-
phere of mourning for a creature dear to us who, we pray, has
gone to a better world.

PART THREE: INDIA

RAMESHVARAM

bthe night began, the Brahmins signed to me to enter the
temple. I followed them without knowing what I was to
do. There I beheld pilgrims without number, hierophants
and temple servitors, round elephants decked out like ikons,
and carriages and stretchers gleaming with gold in the light of
torches. They were preparing for a procession. And before I
knew where I was, I found myself at the head of it. In front
of me, elephants, the most trusted bearers of tradition, moved
with their dignified motion. Behind me followed the goddess,
aloft on her high throne on a precious palanquin. Thus we
paced amidst the rattle of drums and the harsh sound of
clarionets, in a solemn round until late at night, through the
most marvellous cloisters in the world. The walls were lined
with the faithful, whom one could behold only when suddenly
illuminated by the torches, bowing in fearful reverence.

What a wondrous introduction into the land of India! The
Temple of Rameshvaram, on the southern extremity of the
peninsula, lies there lonely, in a palm grove surrounded by the
sea. It is a building hardly smaller than the largest mon-
asteries of our Middle Ages, and its passages cannot be rivalled
for beauty of form and colour anywhere else on earth. This
temple is said to have been founded by Rama himself after
he had conquered Sita from Ravana. It is considered the
second most holy place of Hindustan. Every one who can
possibly manage to do so makes the pilgrimage to this place
after going to Benares. And indeed, the whole of India seems
to be represented here. I can see every colour, eyery costume,
every type, from the dusky Tamyls to the white-skinned men
from Kashmir; I find proud Rajputs on the one hand and
Sanyassis on the other, whose hair has turned to a mass of
felt. Languages and dialects without number resound in the
air, a hundred different traditions speak from the different
facesj caste rubs shoulders with caste, and prejudice with
prejudice. I have never seen such a variety among men be-
fore.

92 INDIA PART in

What strikes me is that, in spite of the extraordinary differ-
ences among the pilgrims, somehow or other they are the
expression of one mind. In what sense? In that of faith?
Perhaps that is so, but that is not what I meanj I mean some-
thing which I have never seen before. I do not mean the
metaphysical consciousness that everything external somehow
belongs together inwardly, for, no matter how characteristic it
may be of the best type of Indians, in those who are gathered
together here — mostly simple, humble folk, incapable of
speculation — this quality is probably developed only to a very
small degree* What impresses me so much is the existence of
a state of consciousness which permits them to perceive reali-
ties which are quite beyond the average Westerner. These
pilgrims apparently understand the significance of symbols.
And in their case it is not a question of holding that childlike
belief which expresses the relation of the uneducated Catholic
to his cult, nor is it a case of the direct understanding of the
cultured individual, in whom # posteriori realisation springs
out of reflective recognition. These pilgrims seem to perceive
the significance of symbols absolutely directlyj their souls
appear to be affected directly by holy words (mantras). This
presupposes a state of consdousness which differs materially
from that of the average European. I am not unfamiliar with
it. He who can transfer the action of his consciousness from
the sphere of material things into the world of mental images,
so that he takes these more seriously than material phenomena
and sees in them that which is essentially real, will discover
that, in^the process, he acquires new possibilities of experience.
While in the ordinary course of events, conceptual relations
gain their significance only in connection with external nature,
he now perceives their true significance, which is entirely inde-
pendent of all externals. And this shows that concepts may
have a significance in a double direction: in the usual sense, as
pictures or images of objective realities, or else as direct mani-
festations of a meaning which originally belongs to them.
Every one who has gone to religious ceremonies with an open
mind will have experienced that their effect varies} some of
them do not move us at all, others move us strongly. There

CHAP. 14 RAMESHVARAM

seem to be normal forms for the progress of inner experience,
just as there are forms or laws of nature. Certain associa-
tions of sounds and concepts seem to correspond, with extraor-
dinary constancy, with certain psychic meanings. No doubt
our consciousness must move on a certain level before these
underlying laws can be perceived} the modern European,
whose soul is in the average condition, feels little enough of
this. From his point of view, he is not unjustified in deny-
ing them, because to him they do not apply} they do not
apply to him in the same sense in which the laws of musical
harmony are invalid for an unmusical person. As a rule he
will be conscious of the special connection which exists be-
tween sounds and psychic realities only in the case of music,
and more rarely, in the case of poetry, for in these cases he
surrenders himself freely to rhythm and the sequence of men-
tal images, and thus realises what would otherwise be beyond
his power of experience} just so, divine services may move him
when a severe shock has temporarily transferred the centre of
his consciousness. Nevertheless, even he can know that in
symbolical actions, which are executed in accordance with
ancient tradition, it is not always a question of accidental
association between significance and appearance. But, know-
ing and experiencing are two different things. What most
Europeans recognise in theory belongs to the self-evident ex-
perience of most pilgrims who have piously gathered together
in Rameshvaram. Their faces reveal unmistakably their un-
derstanding of the significance of the ceremonies which they
attend. If they are told that a certain Mantra is Devata (that
a certain association of sounds represents the true body of the
deity), that imagining certain images in a certain sequence
would really bring about the intended reality, that invocations
were truly potent, that spiritual exercises trained the soul, then
they would not only believe but also understand} they might
understand what was intended. I understand too. I know
that psychic phenomena are just as objective as material ones,
that mental images can become precisely such an incarnation
of metaphysical realities, as solid bodies do, and I understand
that in principle it is possible everywhere to influence matter

94 INDIA PART m

through mind. However, what I understand and know is not
of interest. The significant thing is that these simple people
possess this knowledge. They are not thinkers whose business
it is to understand j they are incapable of anticipating a reality
in their minds j they must actually experience, as actually as
they eat and sleep j they must, to put it briefly, possess the
same relation to psychic realities as the Westerner does to
physical ones.

To-day I do not propose to continue these observations, and
I do not wish to anticipate experience in imagination. How-
ever, I feel driven to express this much: if the normal state of
consciousness of the pious Hindu is really such as it appears to
me to-day, then a great portion of the most extravagant asser-
tions of their philosophy of ritual (Tantra) may be true. If
formulas, ceremonies and incantations are accepted as corre-
sponding directly with their significance, then it is easily possi-
ble that they can work 'miracles.' In this case they may really
lead to all the results to which, in extreme instances, they are
capable of leading. And personally, I hardly doubt that the
necessary presuppositions are correct. I behold the pilgrims
round about me: they all have the eyes of dreamers, they all
look out into the world with curious inattention. On the other
hand, they seem to be singularly attentive to conditions which
are overlooked by the precise observer of nature. Their true
home lies in another world. Is it real? This question is diffi-
cult to answer, because the gauge which we would use to
answer it does not seem to be applicable now. If psychic
phenomena are accepted as being fundamental, and mental
images as being the densest form of reality, then dreams and
experiences are of equal value, and invention and discovery are
equally true. Then, too, there is hardly any difference be-
tween lies and truth. From our point of view, we would have
to come to the conclusion that the Indians live in unreality,
and, as a matter of fact, they generally fail in this world. But
this would not solve the problem. Every form of conscious-
ness reveals a different layer of nature. He who dwells in the
world of the Hindu is subject to influences and has experi-
ences unknown to others* In his case there are sequences of

CHAP, is MADURA 95

causation which cannot be demonstrated in other circumstances.
And it is perfectly possible that, from the level at which he
lives, the path to the final and prof oundest self-realisation in
thought is shorter and easier than it is from our level. Thus, I
dare say that I have found the key to the problem of the
Indian outlook on the world. The Indian regards psychic
phenomena as fundamental} these phenomena are more real
to him than physical ones. Regarded from the angle of the
absolute, this difference of accent makes his position as errone-
ous as that of those holding the opposite point of view, who
believe that physical phenomena alone are real. But just as
the Westerner has understood the nature of matter so pro-
foundly because he has valued it too highly, so the Indian
has penetrated more deeply into the psychic world than any-
body else, because he has not taken any other than psychic
phenomena seriously.

15
MADURA

ATTVHE Temple of Madura at night causes associations of
A horror to rise in my soul. When I walk about in the
dusky, ill-illuminated corridor with its oil lamps, and watch the
curious play of shadows emanating from the strange perform-
ances of those who pray around greasy lingams, while hordes
of bats flap their wings about me and wheel and squeak in the
air j while I regard the many-armed gods, whose appearance is
so much more terrible in artificial light than by day, I am re-
minded of the rites of the Phoenicians, which have been de-
scribed so impressively by Flaubert, I know quite well that
nothing terrible is happening. Hinduism, as practised in the
holy places of Southern India, is gentle and kind, but its
traditional forms bear unmistakable signs of the more savage
times in which they were created. Kali demanded human
sacrifices, and she really demands them still. And Kali is the
spouse of Shiva, .to whom the Temple of Madura has been
consecrated j and Shiva himself is, from many points of view,

96 INDIA PART m

terrible enough. ... I can't help it: all the images are terri-
fying which are occasioned by the impressions of this night.
But the horror thrills me. Now I can well understand why the
earliest forms of worship were terrible and had to be so. I am
reminded of the words which Dostoievsky places in the mouth
of Dimitry Karamazoff, the primitive man among the broth-
ers: *What seems disgraceful and dishonouring to the intelli-
gence appears as pure beauty to the heart — so does beauty lie
in Sodom? — Believe me, she dwells in Sodom for the majority
of men. ... It is awful that beauty is not jonly terrible but
also mysterious. There the devil wrestles with God — and the
battlefield is the human heart.' That is to say, that man re-
gards as beautiful that which enhances his consciousness of life.
This result is brought about in primitive creatures only by the
ecstasy of the flesh. Only in process of intoxication, lust or
cruelty do such people get beyond themselves, only thus do
they experience what developed man experiences in the serene
contemplation of God. For this reason, the cults of the most
deeply religious people are always especially cruel in character
during the early stages of the race} at that stage their reli-
gious consciousness, as it were, exhausts its passion. Then
orgies of lust and cruelty are perpetrated, men enjoy and
suffer frantically, life is created and destroyed in wild con-
fusion. And it must be so. Primitive men are profound only
in their instincts} only sensual enthusiasm unites them to their
substancej they can only experience and express what is deepest
in them in instinctive actions. And is this true only of human
beings in an undeveloped condition? What is the significance
of the cult which has again and again been made of the love
of a man for a woman in Europe, and which not infrequently
finds expression in the most brutal form — what is it but
a reaction against too intellectualised an outlook on the world?
How many people are still in need of 'spiritual' drinks, of
carnal excitement, of wild sensations, in order to rise to their
own levels! They are all still, at any rate with a part of their
being, on the level at which orgies and human sacrifice would
mean the adequate expression of religious emotion. . . . The
Hindus do not need human sacrifice — they are too feminine

CHAP, is MADURA 97

and gentle — in order to satisfy their lusts for destructions.
But the whole of their cult is permeated by the spirit of animal
procreation. Here, for the first time in my life, I behold the
display of sexual activity, not regarded as something unclean,
but as something holy, .as symbolising the divine in nature.
There was no obscene association in the minds of the faithful
present at the feast of Rameshvaram, who beheld the union of
Shiva and Shakti symbolised by puppets. None of the women
who bowed before the lingam to-night seemed to differ in
their attitude from that of a Spanish nun who prays to the
ideal of the Immaculate Conception. Every Hindu devotee
reveres sensual love as the image of divine creative force and
uses it as the vehicle of pious thoughts of sacrifice. The
Shastras teach that man and wife shall never approach each
other without thinking that in this way Brahma is acting
through .them. They are taught to honour each other as
divine while they love one another, not in the spirit of carnal
enjoyment, but in the sense of God-like pouring-out of life.
Thus animal instincts are sanctified as the expression_of divin-

I have never seen expressions so well adapted to the spirit of
fertility as the swaying motion of the dancing girls in the
temple during their solemn march round the images of their
gods. And as I turned my gaze from the girls to the images,
with their curiously exaggerated stylisation, I suddenly became
conscious of the identity of the spirit in both appearances.
These images are the embodiment of our fundamental instincts,
and they are the best possible embodiments. What are our
instincts and passions without reference to the spiritual unity,
to what we call I, or soul? They are beings by themselves,
truly demonic, to whom human form is hardly appropriate.
Any one who has met berserkers or satyrs, embodiments
of lust or of the fury of destruction, will know from experi-
ence what I mean: such creatures are not human beings; they
lie in so far as they represent themselves in human tormj
they are the personification of the elemental forces of nature.
But this applies not only to these images, it applies to all who
are possessed entirely by one single passion. It applies to

98 INDIA PART ra

mothers, who are entirely obsessed by their maternal instinct,
to brides, to whom their lovers are everything} it applies to the
holy men and women whose heart embraces the world in the
divine joy of giving. Every instinctive emotion endows the
human face with a new expression which changes its whole
character: in the one case it makes of man an animal, in the
other it beautifies him, transforms him into a devil, or ennobles
him to such an extent that we are right in speaking of a process
of transfiguration. The means of expression possessed by
physical nature are often insufficient to express these things ade-
quately. The religious suspect behind appearance a special
spirit which obsesses man from time to time} the artist feels
impelled to create a special body which expresses his own
being perfectly} in this way legions of divine images have
been fashioned all over the face of the earth. Most of them
are not what they ought to be. Aphrodite is not the personifi-
cation of love, and the Virgin Mary is not personified ma-
ternity. Both goddesses are only images of human beings,
not independent embodiments of fundamental forces. The
mental outlook of the West was too scientific even during the
Middle Ages to express irrational forces perfectly. But this
is just what the Hindu succeeded in doing. The figures in
the Indian Pantheon, in so far as they embody primary forces,
are so convincing that I am inclined to believe the seer who
told me once that they were the true likenesses of divine reality.
In all probability those men alone are capable of similar
creative activity who have not yet been crystallised into intel-
lectual personalities. They must be men who are swayed by a
variety of emotions, who are possessed now by one, now by
another instinct, without a dear consciousness of the unifying
tie. Such beings, regarded from the Atman point of view, are
superficial, because they know nothing of their real selves.
But it is just for this reason that the prof oundest in them can
give soul to the surf ace, in a manner which is denied to the
spiritualised. The particular elementary instincts are then con-
densed into so much substance, and they grow into beings of
such terrific power, that it is not surprising if many among
us still believe to-day that they are essentially profound. It is

CHAP. 15 MADURA 99

in this sense that the Indian Pantheon, although a superficial
product, yet possesses profundity. It is so tense and exhaus-
tive an expression of the superficial in man and nature, that it
could never have been discovered by a prof ounder set of human
beings*

I AM not surprised that European visitors find it difficult
to do justice to Drawidian art, for none of the usual criteria
are applicable in this case. There is perhaps nothing in this
temple which can be understood purely with one's reason.
There is no unified plan which underlies its structure j no
general motive has controlled its execution and decoration, nor
is it the expression of some particular mental concept. Its
grandeur, its monumental nature,, lack symbolic significance;
it is the accidental product of rich means. Its castellations
seem to have sprung up haphazard like the arms of a coral
reef, and its ornamentation resembles wild growth. The best
comparison that I can think of is to compare this temple with
an agglomeration of buds which grow and jostle each other in
extravagant numbers, and the general appearance, which can
only be discerned with difficulty, affects us as a freak of nature
in the same way as some of those so-called Gothic cathedrals
which the climber meets with in the Dolomites in the Tyrol.

But there is a profound significance in this art to anyone who
has understood its fundamental motive. It is the highest
expression of physical imagination. Yesterday I wrote of the
significance of the various Indian divinities, and^ I said that
fundamental instincts were materialised in them in a manner
which no other people could rival} and I added that such
creations could only emanate from a non-unified psyche which
was still essentially composed of many parts and had not yet
been condensed into mental unity. The plastic ^art of the
Hindus in its generality signifies the rebirth in imagination
of the whole of the unintellectualised forces of life. Hardly
anything in life is by nature subject to reason, nor can it^be
traced to a mental cause. Desires, feelings, sensations, im-
pulses, aspirations, the longing for growth and expansion, and

ioo INDIA PART ni

the renunciation of age, are all essentially irrational phenomena,
and we rob them of their nature in trying to rationalise them.
This peculiarity of their nature is expressed in Indian art with
a unique degree of truth. The Temple of Madura seems to
have been created just as a primitive organism grows, without
plan, without aim, without self-control, following every im-
pulse blindly, changing suddenly from one phase to another,
and only confined within its boundaries by fate. All the better
does it express, for these reasons, every one of its moods } it
knows nothing of renunciation or prejudice, and stands there,
full-blown, full-blooded and full-coloured. The effect of the
whole is necessarily imperfect, but its details are generally
beautiful. The mastery of the Hindu in detail, as opposed to
his insufficiency in great structural concepts, is here given its
deepest explanation and reason.

While I was in Ceylon, I spent a great deal of my observa-
tion in noting the vegetative character of mental creations in the
tropics, and I expressed the assumption that Hinduism also,
in its unlimited wealth, should be understood as a vegetative
process. I was right in principle, but I did not know then what
tremendous potential forces lie within its spirit. Even there,
where it possessed tropical men, it preserved, in all the positive
phases of its life, a controlling power to a very high degree.
That which is absolutely true of Buddhism is true of Hinduism
only in so far as it forms the background of its structure. But
of course, in this case also, there is no question of free mental
creation, but rather animal-like development. Its processes are
akin to nature just as much as the vegetative processes we have
noted, only they are more active, more self -conscious and more
deliberately aimed at a certain goal. An energetic spirit lies
at the bottom of its growth, which gives its creations a force
and tension which are lacking in those of the Buddhists. I
am thinking of the astounding exaggeration which character-
ises all Indian mythology. In one case a sage drinks up the
oceanj in another, a prince holds his nuptials with 10,000
virgins in one night; Gautama has passed through many lakhs
of reincarnations before he became Buddha, and Krishna wields
millions of arms. I am thinking too of the superabundance

CHAP. 15 MADURA 101

of gods which go to make up the Indian Pantheon, of the
endlessly varied rules of Tantra ritual, of the excessive number
of words and concepts which are the vehicles of Indian thought
— all these are excrescences, they are vegetative, but so fruitful
an imagination underlies them, and they are in themselves
so vital, that in comparison we think of the bodies of animals
rather than of the most luxuriating plants- When I behold
the realm of Indian forms, it seems to me as if the imagination
of the flesh had created themj as if the imagination of a great
poet had invaded the cells of the body, so that the latter is
now creative in the same sense as the poet is in the psychic
sphere. What would happen if an unlimited imagination
were inextricably linked to flesh? — The result would be forma-
tions such as are characteristic of Indian mythology. The
concept of maternity would be expressed exactly as in the
main Gopuram of the Temple of Madura, in an unending
series of superstructures of milk-laden breasts} omnipotence
would be embodied in thousands of organs, and so on. Thus
the body would create if he had the gif t of poetry. Thus the
spirit of the Hindus did actually create at the height of its
power. Its art seems to be totally unintellectualised, without
unity and without any need for it, but just for this reason it
is more expressive where it tries to express the irrational
than anything or anyone else. Hindu art alone has perhaps
succeeded in manifesting invisible things in the visible world.
In Hinduism the dark creative forces which usually exhaust
themselves in the formation of material organs have led to
great art. One single dancing Shiva embodies more of the
essence of divinity than a whole army of Olympians.

THE spirit of polytheism takes possession of my receptive
soul more and more. I accept, as a matter of course, all forces
within and without me as being substantial, and my pantheon
becomes richer from hour to hour. My experiences gain corre-
spondingly in colour. In so far as I recognise a special being
in every special manifestation, I notice these manifestations
more than before, and the quality of my consciousness is

102 INDIA PART III

gaining in degree. Our universe seems to me to be a coloured
chaos of an infinite number of monads, each one of which is
clearly characterised, yet none may be traced to another, nor
are any of them governed by identical considerations. On the
other hand, however, none contradicts each other. As a matter
of fact, I no longer perceive a possible contradiction, for this
concept no longer means anything to me. What is one to do
with unity, connection and consequence, in a world m which
there is nothing but a string of qualities? There is no general
denomination for qualities. And thus those problems no
longer concern me which are so momentous to the seeker after
God: the problems of evil, and of its reconciliation to good, the
all too frequent unprofitableness of a virtuous life, and other
similar considerations. There are simply good and evil forces,
moral and amoral ones. Power is not necessarily connected with
love, nor knowledge with good intentions. The individual
fate of man, and the general fate of the world, are dependent
on the interaction of so many individual variable factors, that
even Brahma, in his capacity of mathematician, could hardly
understand events in the light of a general formula. The
essential point is to keep one's eyes open, to observe as many
special phenomena as possible, to facilitate and induce favour-
able influences, and to obviate, by all the means in one's power,
the effectiveness of unfavourable ones. And, thanks be to all
the gods, there are rules for this purpose. Again and again
they have taught us prayers and rituals which effect this or
that, again and again they have given us indications of what
we ought to do and leave undone in various circumstances.
And as long as one obeys faithfully what the Shastras and
Tantras command, and if only one does not fail to consult
wise Brahmins in all the decisive moments of life, then life
itself seems, in a world permeated by spirits of every kind,
hardly more dangerous than it does to the man who does not
believe in supernatural forces. Undoubtedly such a life is
more interesting. Every moment something is happening,
something is to be observed, to be reflected upon, which gives
transcendental significance to the most insignificant event.
Everywhere forces are at play which in any case are curious.

CHAP. 15 MADURA 103

And thus I take greater delight in myself as a believer in gods
than I have ever done heretofore. I am richer and more
versatile in my powers of experience and perception. I am no
longer surprised that great artists only flourish under polythe-
ism (for the Catholic Church is a polytheistic system, and most
great poets, such as Goethe, have, at any rate as artists, sub-
scribed to polytheism). Art can only create something great in
circumstances where special phenomena are allowed their right
to existence, where the forces of imagination, instead of re-
ducing these phenomena, strive to ennoble and magnify them.
Conversely, every artistic nature reveals in its type a trait
which defines polytheistic peoples: the un-unified nature of
their souls. If Shakespeare had concentrated himself into a
deep-rooted intellectual personality, he would never have been
able to give a soul to so many men* Monotheism, sooner or
later, unless other forces specially oppose the process, takes the
place of the richer faith of polytheism. Once the soul has
become unified, once a single ego-consciousness has taken the
place of multiplicity of instincts, then even the substance of
the gods, however diversified hitherto, is condensed into one
divinity. And thus order, law and coherence take the place
of the original confusion. Simultaneously, however, the uni-
verse becomes contradictory; now, when everything is to har-
monise, we recognise how little it really is attuned. More-
over, the world becomes poorer in the process, for now that one
ideal floats above all creation, those forces which have no posi-
tive relation to this ideal are denied, ignored or opposed. And
as there are a great number of such forces, nature becomes
impeded in its unrestricted growth. The world is stabilised
and moralised; everywhere among monotheists, their char-
acters are stronger, their principles firmer, the forms of life
purer. On the other hand, their souls are more colourless,
more rigid, and more sterile. A friend of mine, formerly a
most fortunate Don Juan, had turned into an exemplary hus-
band. I asked him what it felt like. He replied, with a sigh:
'There is much to be said for virtue, but I feel that my nature
stagnates; too many of its sides suffer for lack of use; I fear
that it is not good for men to live only for one woman.'

104 INDIA PART ni

Poly- and monotheism are contradictory. The mystic, how-
ever, whose consciousness of God is generally so wrongly
called pantheism, is never opposed to polytheism: quite on the
contrary, it is in this mental atmosphere that mysticism has
developed best, as, for instance, in Europe within the Catholic
Church. It is only partially true to assert that the mystic
experiences the unity of divinity j his experience lies beyond all
enumeration. When he speaks of unity, he refers to something
which has neither unity nor multiplicity, and simultaneously
possesses both. He calls it unity, because this concept here on
earth probably implies both these concepts. In any case, how-
ever, he is never a monotheist in the Jewish, Puritanical or
Islamic sense, although, of course, many mystics have come
from these monotheistic groups. A mystic is a contemplative
man, whose life emanates entirely from within, who lives in the
essence of things and for that essence alone, whose conscious-
ness has taken root in Atman, and who accordingly is com-
pletely truthful and pours out his inmost being without any
inhibition. Such a man cannot deny any expression of life.
He perceives divine power at work in every one of them, he
reveres every expression of life, and any naivete, no matter
how it is expressed, is more sacred to him than any phenomenon
limited by external form and prejudice. It is therefore self-
evident that to Indian consciousness, which is more alive
mystically than any other, there is no opposition between
animal Hinduism and the clarified wisdom of the Rishi. Tc
him they are both expressions of one and the same thing on
different levels. An unprejudiced and truthful primitive man
cannot help but regard himself as a multiplicity of instincts j
the wise man without prejudice cannot but realise that he is
superior to all manifestations. And the experience of both has
the same significance. Of course, it would be a mistake tc
believe (as Indian scholastic teaching would wish to demon-
strate) that diversified manifestation is primarily the symbol
of one force. Originally it all grew forth like a mass oJ
budsj originally there was no kind of unity at the bottom oJ
the Indian Pantheon. On the other hand, its multiplicity sig-
nifies exactly the same as the consciousness of unity in th<

CHAP. 15 MADURA 105

higher stages. For this reason, the priests are justified meta-
physically in declaring all belief in God to be orthodox and
compatible with the Vedas and the Upanishads. From an
empirical point of view, a great deal is to be said against their
interpretation. The greater portion of all their legends of
the gods originated outside the Brahminic tradition, and belong
to the folklore of non-Aryan aborigines, which were only
absorbed into Brahminism later, where they eventually
acquired a significance which undoubtedly they did not possess
originally. These facts have probably been recognised and
explained correctly by Sir Alfred LyalL However, the falsi-
fication which the Brahmins practised was justified meta-
physically. The gods are, and signify really, that which the
Brahmins assert. When they teach that a local deity of an
obscure tribe is actually a Vishnu-Avatar, and as such one
aspect of the one and only Brahma, they express, in a mytho-
logical way, a metaphysical truth. There is divine activity in
every impulse, every surface derives its soul from the depths,
and can thus be regarded as its expression. And in being re-
garded thus, it becomes profound. Folklore gains depth by
the interpretation it receives through wise men, so that, that
which originally was finally true only symbolically, becomes
true empirically, and to this extent it becomes the expression of
the highest knowledge.

Not a single sage of India, not even Buddha, has opposed the
popular belief in gods. Most of them, above all Shankara, the
founder of radical monism, subscribed to this belief themselves.
They were so conscious, on the one hand, of the inexpressibility
of divinity, and, on the other, of the infinite number of possible
manifestations, that generally they preferred the manifold
expression to the simple one. I am reminded of the famous
hymn to Mahadevi (from the 5th Matamya of Tshandi) in
which she, the goddess, is revered as Ishwara, the highest
being, then as Ganga, then as Saraswati, and again as Lakshmi,
where in one verse, after declaring that she dwells in all the
beings of the world in the form of peace, power, reason, mem-
ory, professional competence, abundance, mercy, humility,
hunger, sleep, faith, beauty, and consciousness, it is added that

io6 INDIA PART in

she also dwells in every creature in the form of error. It
seems to me that this multiplicity in its connected form is a
better expression of what the pious Indian means, than any
single formula could be, however profound.

HOW could our clarified concepts do justice to the irrational
animal formation of the Indian mind? It is perhaps not an
accident that in Sanskrit there are more words for philosophic
and religious thought than in Greek, Latin and German put
together. The language of primitives, if they are gifted, is
richer in descriptions of concrete phenomena than that of more
developed people, because primitive men are incapable of
making abstractions and therefore require many special ex-
pressions, where more developed races can manage with a few
general ones. For this reason, the vocabulary of the old
Indians (although they were, as a matter of fact, capable of
abstractions! ) was so rich, and became richer with every gener-
ation, because it was found to be impossible, even by means of
the most discriminately chosen general expressions, to cope
with their excessive wealth of ideas. General concepts are of
use only where the object to be recognised is rational or ca-
pable of rationalisation, and this is never true of the Indian
world. Everything alive in this marvellous country has grown
irresponsibly like flesh, quite haphazard and without purpose
or decided aim. Not only can we find no fundamental plan in
the temples, nor discover a unified and guiding idea within its
forms of belief} in India there is also no nation, no spirit of the
race, no national consciousness of the people j there are no
Hindus in the sense in which there are Germans or English-
men. Syntheses of this kind can exist only where reason sways
the growth of thought, no matter how imperceptibly, where
there is a natural tendency towards generalisation and a striv-
ing for unityj all these are lacking in Hindustan. Here the
most extraordinary manifestations grow aimlessly and in con-
trast. At times they are sharply and permanently divided,
at others they enter upon the most improbable connections.

CHAP, is MADURA 107

Every form is justified as such, and no attempt is ever made to
eradicate its peculiarities} there is room for everything in the
world. One should not imagine that Brahmanism was the
only motive spirit at the bottom of this infinite variety. To
begin with, Brahmanism itself is not one single spirit} secondly,
it does not animate all manifestations} and thirdly, when it
does so animate them, it happens in so undefined a way that no
concrete relation is established between special manifestations.
There can be no question that Brahmanism gives life to all
appearance in the same sense and measure in which the spirit
of Buddhism does to life in Ceylon*

The unique magnificence of colour in Indian life, which
delights my soul more and more from day to day, is due to
the Indian indifference to all questions of cohesion and uni-
formity. I have hardly travelled in India as yet, and never-
theless I have seen more variety than anywhere else among
men. Stern reason has nowhere and at no time impeded friv-
olous growths. This is all the more remarkable, as the Hin-
dus are famous for their dialectics, their logical powers and
complicated systems. They have found a method and a sys-
tem for everything, from the art of poetry to the profession
of the highwayman, from the method of life which leads to
God to the manner in which the nuptial night is to be spent.
How is this to be brought into harmony with their irration-
ality? It harmonises with it in so far as the passion for sys-
tem is an irrational instinct amongst others, and, like every
other irrational instinct, it goes its own way and flourishes irre-
sponsibly. Just as mental images luxuriate wildly, so do their
interpretations} and just as gods and spirits multiply, so do the
systems of their philosophy. Logic in India has never pre-
tended to establish connections of ultimate validity} it has very
wisely recognised its own limitations, and left this problem to
mystic intuition. All that it has done is to systematise existing
data, or to speculate extravagantly from existing data, or to an-
alyse, even beyond hair-splitting, the data they possess. Their
achievements are generally typical of scholastic work, and lack,
as a rule, all scientific value. No manifestation of the Indian
imagination is less pleasing. Yet it would be unfair to say of

io8 INDIA PART m

the Indians that they have never striven after the highest aims,
or accuse them of never having produced a Parmenides or a
Hegel. In logical acuteness the Hindus are not behind the
Europeans, and it would not have been difficult for them to have
invented similar systems. They have not done so because, as
metaphysicians, they were too profound; because they knew that
logical understanding does not plumb the depths. They were
never rationalists. Now this is one of the great examples which
the Indian people have given to humanity: the gift of intelli-
gence does not necessarily produce rationalism, and a maxi-
mum of logical acuteness does not necessarily destroy an un-
biased outlook. In India, three fundamental interpretations
of the Vedanta-Sutras are regarded as equally orthodox: a
monistic, a dualistic and a theistic interpretation; From these
three emanate several hundreds of more or less contradictory
systems. What does this mean? It means that the Indians
are profoundly conscious of the contingency of all products of
reason, that they know that it is impossible for any effort of
reason to give a true picture of metaphysical reality, and that
they all only signify an a $eu pres. Europeans, when they
realise something similar, immediately declare war upon
reason. The Indians, who are wiser in this respect as well,
give reason proportionately greater freedom. No manifesta-
tion is to be taken seriously metaphysically, but empirically
every one of them has a right to existence. And thus, if it
pleases the body, he can create creature after creature. If
imagination takes delight in doing so, it can populate the heav-
ens with gods, and even reason is at liberty to flourish.

I AM sitting at one of the ponds in the interior of the sanctu-
ary and listening to a Brahmin reading from the Ramayana.
His assistant interrupts again and again the reading in Sanskrit
with chanting explanations in the popular dialect. With glow-
ing eyes and with an intensity which verges upon a trance, the
congregation listens to the sacred song. — The great epics,
Ramayana, and Mahabharatam, mean to the Hindus approxi-
mately what the Book of Kings meant to the Jews: the chron-

CHAP. 15 MADURA

109

icles of the times in which they were mighty upon earth, and
at the same time in constant intercourse with heaven. From
the human point of view they therefore mean more to them
than all Shastras. No simple Hindu doubts their historical
accuracy, and not many of their scholars do so either. They
are fond of referring to episodes from the Mahabharatam for
purposes of scientific proof, and it is not rare that heavenly
events are quoted in order to explain earthly happenings. The
Indians know nothing of history, nor* have they any organs
for historical truth. Mythology and reality are one and the
same thing to them. And thus, legend is judged as reality,
and reality transformed to legend, and every time this happens
as if it were a matter of course. And not only the dead and the
absent are changed, again and again living and present indi-
viduals are recognised as Avatars and revered by the mass as
gods. For the rest, life takes its normal course. The appear-
ance of a god upon earth does not seem to the Hindus any more
extraordinary than the interference in the Trojan War by the
Olympians seemed to the heroes of Homer. They believe
everything with the same readiness, they accept what is likely
just as they accept what is improbable, and they do not take
anything specially seriously simply because it is historically
true.

It is only here that I succeed in understanding these facts.
Now that the Hindu mode of consciousness has been revealed
to me in the concrete its insufficiencies are obvious: the Hindus
do not differentiate strictly between fiction and truth, dream
and reality, imagination and actuality, and for this reason it is
impossible to rely upon their statements. Their science is
inaccurate and their observation lacks precision. But every
mode of consciousness has a positive element, and this latter
strikes me more and more. While at Rameshvaram I noted
down that the attitude in which the accent is placed con-
sciously on tlie mental image as such, and not on the external
object to which it is addressed, generally reveals sides of reality
which otherwise would escape notice. This applies also to the
attitude thanks to which reality and mythology mingle. How
does mythology change reality? Senselessly, or according to

no INDIA PART in

some idea? The change is always full of meaning; the signifi-
cant element of reality is raised in the process of mythical
transformation. In this process the essentials become more and
more evident, not necessarily that which seems the most essen-
tial in the object, but that which seems the most essential to
the poet and his kind* Modern occidental mythology effects
this change with almost scientific exactitude; every new meta-
morphosis shows Goethe more like his own metaphysical self,
whereas the Indian has generally only increased the signifi-
cance of the hero to the people. If I regard these facts in
connection with the positive elements in the Indian conscious-
ness, then the problem appears to be nearly solved: the Indian
consciousness accepts the significant elements directly as such;
it has the same relation to every event as a pious believer has
to a religious mystery; or, to give another and more pregnant
comparison, he experiences in such a way as the contemporaries
of Goethe would have had to experience him, in order to recog-
nise his eternal significance as clearly as we do. And what is
valuable, what essential — significance or facts? Significance
alone; facts as such are totally irrelevant. Thus, India, with
its tendency to producing myths, has, judged from the angle
of life, chosen the better part as opposed to precise Europe.

I DWELL in the state of consciousness in which the battle of
Kurukshitra, in which the gods could be seen standing by the
side of men, seems as real as that of Sedan. The world which
is thus revealed to me — is it not more real than that of the re-
search-student? Is it not real in a far higher sense? The
teachings of Indian wisdom irresistibly take possession of my
mind, almost without surprise. Significance is the primary,
the eternal and the truly real force; that which is called fact is
nothing more than its image, unreliable, like everything pro-
duced by Maya; the importance of appearance can be gauged
only by the degree in which it expresses its significance. Ac-
cordingly, the astral world is more real than the physical one,
and in turn the realm of ideas more real than the astral world,
for in each successive sphere true significance is manifested

CHAP, is MADURA in

in an increasingly pure form* Here below we are to ascribe a
higher reality to inspired thought than to the events which
seem to disprove them, for the things of this world pass away,
whereas their significance remains eternally; and legends are
more substantial than all history, because in them significance
presents itself in the form of eternal symbols, which will out-
live many Kalpas.— Did Krishna really live, did he really de-
liver the speech which can be read to-day in the Bhagavat-Gita,
to Arjuna, before the dedsive struggle? Certainly, so far as
you believe it. In higher realms, significance exists by itself
without any f ormj as soul, it cannot be perceived by our minds*
It finds expression just as you desire yourself} just as you be-
lieve, wish or think, it becomes manifest — as god or goddess, as
a system of philosophy, as an image of prehistoric times, as
legend. It is all left to you. But the more you strive to pene-
trate into its essence, the more noble are the images which
appear to you. — I hold converse with the spirit of this wisdom.
It appears to me as Mahaguru, as a great teacher who, gently
and kindly, points the way to me. Do not let yourself be
deceived by the evil Maya, the goddess of your Western
science! Her greatest cunning is that everything she does is
proof against the criticism of reason. But that which can be
proved is never essential: everything capable of proof vanishes
and transforms itself into something which can be proved
anew, and deceives the uninitiated concerning its essence in
every one of its forms with equal success. Of course, every-
thing we imagine is Maya too, only they have this advantage
over the physical world, that they display their peculiarity
more honestly, and offer a more pliable medium to significance.
How your scholars have misjudged the heart of reality! They
have brains, as perhaps no Indian has had them, but instead
of using them to seek significance, they waste the precious
time of their human existence in studying indifferent unre-
alities, and think they have achieved heaven knows what, if
their results are objective! Of course they are objective, but
•they are also transitory. And look at my Hindus by com-
parison. They know nothing of exact research? they do not
understand Mayaj they fail only too often in this world. On

112 INDIA PART III

the other hand, their souls are opened wide to all possible
influences of eternal significance, and they all wander along
the road to liberation. — The guardian of the temple calls to
me: it is time to leave the Atrium. In fact, all the bathers have
gone. The lecture on Ramayana has stopped. Only a few
naked Yogis persevere in motionless meditation.

16
TANJORE

I HAVE spent many hours to-day watching the dancers in the
temple. They moved in front of me to the accompaniment
of that strange orchestra which always plays during holy
ceremonies, in semi-darkness, and the longer they danced the
more did they fascinate me. The story goes that Nana Sahib,
after he had ordered the massacre of the English prisoners,
sent for four Nautch girls and watched their flowing move-
ments during the whole night while he sat by without moving a
muscle. I used to think that such a choice of relaxation, and
such endurance of enjoyment required a special temperament.
But to-day I know that mere understanding is sufficient} I too,
in the presence of these girls, lost all consciousness of time,
and found happiness. The idea underlying these dances has
little in common with that which underlies ours. It lacks
all great, broad lines, it lacks every composition which may be
said to have a beginning and an end. The movements never
signify more than a transient ripple on smooth water. Many
begin and end with the hands, others flow slowly back into
the quiescent, soft bodies, and if by chance a perfect arabesque
is achieved, it disappears so rapidly that it only attracts mo-
mentary attention and does not lead to a continued tension.
The glittering garments veil and soften the mobile play of the
muscles; every crude curve is resolved into golden waves, in
which their jewels are mirrored like stars. As an art, no mat-
ter how mobile it may be, this dance possesses no accelerating
motive j for this reason one can watch it ceaselessly. Our dance
means a definite, finite formation, which begins and ends in

CHAP.I6 TANJORE 113

timej the onlooker enters into its play of lines, and in so doing
he exerts himself, identifies himself with its ^meaning, and,
when the design is completed, sinks back into himself wearily,
because no one can live outside himself for long. It is im-
possible to watch the most perfect Western play of movements
continuously. In the case of the Nautch it is different Their
contemplation does not take the onlooker beyond himself into
a strange realm, it allows him, on the contrary, to be conscious
of his own lifej it simply exteriorises the intimate process of
his life, as a clock does in moving its hands, and no one tires of
this. Every rapid movement sinks back as soon as it has been
shown, into the bathos of the calmly flowing stream of life, and
this gives us a direct experience of its flow. For the stream of
life as such is not felt by us; we do not notice the circulation of
our bloodj we become conscious of our duration only by means
of the small events which, rising again and again to the sur-
face, also set the lower layers of our being into gentle motion.
That is exactly what the movements of Indian dancing aim at
and achieve. They are just pronounced enough to make man
conscious of himself, and to make it easy for him to feel him-
self alive. .

This is the significance of the Indian dance. It is the same
significance as underlies all Indian manifestations^ only the
Nautch makes it unusually evident. In the plastic art this
wealth of form is so confusing that the observer easily over-
looks the underlying reason. In both cases it is the dark
background of life which by itself is formless, unfathomable
and unintelligible. It is not a rational principle or an idea, it is
purely circumstantial. Regarded from the angle of the cir-
cumstantial basis, everything objective seems accidental, sense-
less, incoherent, lawless and without a purpose. It may, ot
course, be real as an appearance. But whoever enquires after
its significance will be pointed by the Indians away from aU
reality into the nameless depths of Being, which sends all
formations like bubbles to the surface.

114

INDIA PART in

17
CONJEEVARAM

My Tamyl servant is forbidden to enter all the temple
precincts which I am permitted to visit. _ He is a Christian
and therefore a pariah} everybody sees this at first glance.
The Indians seem to have a special organ with which they
perceive at once the caste of any individual, no matter how
cleverly he may attempt to deceive them.

This time a young priest who conducted me through the
sanctuaries of Conjeevaram, asked me straight out how it was
possible that I permitted myself to be waited upon by an out-
cast. Was I not at all afraid of defiling myself? I did not
know how to reply, for I understand the Indian view of life
only too well by now. If psychic factors are primary, if con-
cepts are more real than demonstrable phenomena, if imagina-
tion conditions the world of things, then prejudices must mark
equally clear boundaries as those which in material nature
divide one genus from another. Those who belong to different
castes are undoubtedly beings of a different kind, and it would
seem of infinite importance with whom one associates, with
whom one eats, and careless behaviour can result in infection
just as dangerous as contact with the bacilli of typhoid. And
this is true quite literally, in fact in a higher degree. Our
souls are peculiarly open to infection} every influence pene-
trates into them and disturbs this original condition. From this
it follows that, if a certain psychic equilibrium appears as the
only possible condition, just as health appears the only possible
state as opposed to illness, then the most energetic means must
be employed to resist all influences which could tend to upset
it. The whole of cultivated humanity does this, where it is a
question of preserving intact the spirit of a school or an army.
In India this happens on the largest scale, because there all life
is controlled by 'spirits' of this kind. These spirits possess two
peculiarities which make them excessively difficult to handle:
on the one hand, they tend to unlimited differentiation, on the
other, they succumb before the slightest attack of disease.

CHAP.I; CONJEEVARAM 115

The first-named peculiarity has in the course of time resulted
in such a complication of the Indian caste system that an unem-
barrassed existence is hardly possible for the Hinduj at every
turn some prejudice. crosses his path. The other is conditioned
by a Constant atmosphere of qui vive, and the unceasing
necessity of observing such strict precautions as we would
only consider during a virulent visitation of the plague. One
experience, one perception too many for the Hindu, and he is
done for. In this way most of those who, for over a thousand
years, lent colour to the life of Europe, died out in less than a
century. Now in India, in the land in which Psyche dominates
all reality is conditioned by imagination. If prejudice were to
disappear, the caste system, the venerable skeleton of the
whole of Indian life, would go too. And these prejudices are
often so delicate that they can only live in hothouse air. Until
recently, every Brahmin lost his caste if he left India in a ship,
and this was justified, because the web of concepts, of imagina-
tion and prejudice, which defines the Brahmin, must be de-
stroyed as soon as he steps out of the frame of his inherited
tradition. And thus his caste would cease to be.

There is only one path for the Indian which leads beyond the
fetters of caste: the path of recognition. Anyone who has
realised his identity with Brahma has grown beyond the sphere
of manifestation. He who denies the world to gain the highest
revelation does not need to concern himself about the world
any more. The Sanyassi, the Yogi, the Rishi have no caste
prejudice. What wisdom there is in this teaching! Recog-
nition does indeed melt down all natural fetters; he who
knows is no longer bound by anything. But only a sage can
permit himself the luxury of looking down upon prejudice.
He who throws away his prejudices prematurely does not gain;
his freedom, but rather bars his way to it. Our own times illus-
trate this truth with terrible clarity, Modern humanity has
destroyed the form whose development made our ancestors
profound, and since it has not invented any new one to replace
the old, men are becoming more superficial and more evil from
year to year. The great idea of freedom which humanity pro-
claims, it does not understand inwardly, and for this reason

n6 INDIA PART HI

it brings destruction instead of salvation. Quod licet Fovi non
licet bom. It is absolutely indifferent from life's point of view
what any condition is worth ideally or theoretically. All that
matters is whether it does or does not correspond to a given
soul. How infinitely more wise than those who would eman-
cipate our people was the Arab Hajji Ibn Yokhdan, who, after
gaining his own revelation, not only refrained from explaining
it to his brethren, but even begged them to be forgiven for
having once made an attempt of this kind, 'He begged them
for forgiveness,' reports Ibn Tufail, cf or the words which he
had spoken unto them, and he assured them that he was en-
tirely of their opinion, and advised them urgently to abide by
their accustomed ideas. They were to shut themselves off
from all alien influences, and they were to follow the example
of their worthy ancestors, and not permit any innovation.
There was no way of salvation for those who were weak and
who had not learned wisdom. If they emancipated themselves
from tradition, their condition could only become worse j they
would lose all inner security, they would be cast hither and
thither, and probably come to an evil end.' — It seems, however,
that the West is finding its way back to a prof ounder under-
standing of life. Pragmatism is, after all, nothing but a ver-
sion, fit for this age, of the wisdom of Hajji Ibn Yokhdan.

MAHABALIPURAM (THE SEVEN
PAGODAS)

AND thus my pilgrimage through the sanctuaries of South-
ern India has come to the most ideal conclusion. On this
bare and empty isle of sand, every rock, almost every stone, has
been re-created as a work of art. Sometimes the vast bodies of
elephants and bullocks have been chiselled out of great blocks,
then again delicate Mandagrams. Monolithic temples crown
the heights, and cover every hill, and when the sea rises, its
waves roll over exquisite stairs and doorsteps and gradually
rise to and break before the slumbering gods. Who were the

S MAHABALIPURAM 117

men who fashioned this world? The sand has blown away their
traces. Mahabalipuram must once upon a time, probably
thanks to the transient caprice of a rajah, have been one single
workshop in which thousands of hands hammered, bored, at-
tempted, improved and rarely perfected, in order suddenly to
be deserted again. That is what one suspects, but we know
nothing. To-day only a few poor fishermen and a handful of
Brahmins live herej lean sheep wander among the ruins in
search of their scanty food.

I sat until late at night in the gateway of the Vishnu Temple,
which originally lay in the middle of the land, but is sur-
rounded to-day on three sides by the hungry sea, and I only
left it when the rising flood began to wet my feet. They say
that five temples have already been swallowed by the sea, and
that the days of this one are numbered. My imagination races
ahead of time. I see our ancient planet, covered with broken
fragments, rolling, cold and dead, through space. And this
idea does not make me sad. Transitoriness is the safeguard
of eternity. If men and their work were not unique, irreplace-
able and irretrievable, their existence would signify nothing.
The ending of nothing has never hurt me in my heart of
hearts, but how often have I suffered on rediscovering condi-
tions which should have been buried long ago! Will men
never understand that duration only means delay whenever it
exceeds the span necessary for realisation? Will they never
see that it is sacrilege to ding to the past? And that, in so
doing, they threaten the life of the eternal? . . . Only small
fragments remain of the great art of India. Indian artists,
forgetful of destructive forces, have worked chiefly in wood.
They knew very well that duration was unimportant. And
it pleases me to think that they lived in the spirit of the great
doctrine of the Bhagavat-Gita: Toil day and night, but sacrifice
beforehand the results of thy work.

ii8 INDIA PART ra

19
ADYAR

AT the invitation of Mrs. Annie Besant, I have settled for a
time in Adyar, the magnificently situated headquarters of
the Theosophical Society* No matter what attitude we take
to the Theosophical movement, their deserts in revealing the
wisdom of the East cannot be denied. It is true that they have
transmitted this wisdom in a manner which robs it of a good
deal of its peculiar nature. In accordance with the Western,
and particularly the Anglo-Saxon temperament, they often
stress that which is unimportant to the East, to such an
extent that the same teaching in theosophy appears in direct
opposition to its significance to the Indians. In this way,
for instance, the hope of eternal reincarnation is nothing
terrible to the theosophistsj it is rather a blessed message, for
they long, with very few exceptions, for anything rather than
an escape out of the world of manifestation. They affirm life
in the practical and empirical sense, they wish to rise on the
ladder of life, just in the way we advance in this world. All
the theosophists whom I have met cling, in crass opposition
to the Indians, to individuality. This change of attitude —
justified enough by itself, for it is apparently a question of
temperament whether one affirms or denies existence — has, of
course, a modifying effect upon their doctrine, and undoubt-
edly to its disadvantage from a philosophical point of view.
Firstly because Indian spiritualism has thereby undergone a
remarkable -metamorphosis in the direction of Anglo-Saxon
materialism. In theosophical textbooks so much weight is
attached to the forms in which spirit is manifested (which, of
course, are material) that most faithful students must Come to
think that the forms of these manifestations are the essential,
and such a view defines the materialist. Moreover, in the hands
of the theosophist, the Indian doctrine of the essential inde-
pendence of the individual, which is heightened from stage to
stage, has retreated so considerably, compared with the other,
according to which guidance is necessary, that the theosophic

CHAP, ig ADYAR 119

religious community, in spite of all assertions to the contrary,
is being crystallised more and more into a kind of Catholic
Church within which faith in authority, readiness to serve, and
obedience are the cardinal virtues. But this probably had to be
so. Indian wisdom no doubt could not be popularised among
Westerners without considerable misinterpretation. The tend-
ency to Catholicism is a characteristic of our day. And, after
all, the object of the theosophists is not the continuation of the
Indian doctrine: they aim at the triumph of their personal be-
liefs. They are the disciples of a new religion. It proves
nothing against them if one shows up their scientific errors.

However insufficient the theosophists may be as adepts of
Indian wisdom, as philosophers and metaphysicians, in one
direction they are doubtlessly its true disciples, namely, as
occultists. This fact makes them extremely interesting to me,
I have been interested for years in the secret doctrine of antiq-
uity. All the more important documents which are available
to non-members of occult societies, I have read, and I have
reached the philosophical conclusion that, as far as the facts
they assert are concerned, there is much truth in them. It
would involve placing very much too high a value on the
human powers of imagination if one supposed that men could
have invented everything which is reported from 'higher*
planes, and it would be opposed to all the rules of criticism if
we disregarded altogether the extraordinary consonance of
the secret traditions of all peoples and all times, from the
earliest days of antiquity to the present day. It would mean
an unjustified simplification of the problem, if, without any
trace of justification, we should stigmatise as swindlers men
who in everyday life are well known to be honest. It is highly
probable, in fact it is certain, that there is much which is erro-
neous that has been handed down in these occult teachings,
there is much that is imaginary, there is much phantasmagoria.
But anyone who, like myself, takes the trouble to study them
seriously, will come to the conclusion that it is not all imagi-
naryj that the possibility of much of it is certain, and the reality
probable.

The reality of many a strange phenomenon which, until

120

INDIA PART in

recently, was considered impossible, has been proved to-day.
Only the ignorant can doubt the truth of telesthesia, of action
at a distance, of the existence of materialisations, whatever all
that may mean. I was quite certain of this before they had
been proved} I knew that they were possible in principle, and
considered it out of the question that so many unimaginative
people could go through extraordinary experiences which co-
incide so remarkably, without their being based on some real
fact. Anyone who seriously concerns himself with the problem
of the interaction of the body and the mind, of the substance
and principle of life, will recognise that there is no difference
in principle between moving your own hand and moving a
distant object. There is also no real difference between affect-
ing your immediate surroundings and some object at a distance.
If I can convey thoughts to my neighbour, either by means of
words, expressions, a look, or by communicating with him
psychically in the technical sense of this term — it i? all the
same — then this must also be possible in principle in the case
of the antipodes, for what is difficult to understand is the power
of the mind in influencing matter at all. If this is true any-
where, then the limits of what the mind may effect cannot be
discerned, for there are forces which link and permeate all
points of the universe. In the same sense, I am quite certain
of many things which still await objective proof. In this way
I am sure of the existence of levels of reality which corre-
spond with the astral and mental planes of theosophy. Un-
doubtedly the processes of thought and feeling mean, from a
certain point of view, the formation and radiation of forms and
vibrations which, although they may not be material in the
sense that they escape physical proof, must still be regarded
as material phenomena. All appearance is ipso facto material}
that is to say, it must be understood in accordance with the cate-
gories of matter and force} this applies to an idea no less
than to a chemical. ^For the expression of an idea— whatever
be true of its meaning— belongs in all circumstances to the
world of phenomena, and it is its expression which gives it
substance, which makes it real and capable of being conveyed.
In the case of the spoken or the written word, this material

CHAP, ig ADYAR 121

character of mental formation is obviousj but the same is true
in so far as they are only conceived, for even subjective mental
images are appearances of something which hitherto did not
exist in the visible world, and they are therefore real materiali-
sations of which it has already been proved that they can be
conveyed, and possess therefore objective reality. Let us sup-
pose now that it is possible to perceive directly the material
formations which are created and pass away in the process of
thought and feeling: we would thus have arrived at the higher
spheres of occultism. It has not yet been proved scientifically
that such a possibility exists in practice. In principle it does
exist, and anyone who reads what C W. Leadbeater, for in-
stance, has told us about these spheres, can hardly doubt that
he at any rate does feel at home in them, for all the state-
ments which we can control, in so far as they are directly con-
nected with events in our own sphere of life, are in themselves
so probable and agree so perf ectly with the known nature of
psychic phenomena, that it would be much more remarkable if
Leadbeater were wrong. Above all, however, I am inclined to
accept as probable the assertion of the occultists for epistemo-
logical considerations. There is no doubt that the reality
which we experience normally is only a qualified section of the
whole realm of reality, whose character is conditioned by our
psycho-physical organism (this is the real significance of the
teaching of Kant: 'My world is representation*). And this
certainty allows us to draw a further conclusion, namely, that,
if we should succeed in acquiring a different organisation, then
the merely human barriers and forms would lose their validity.
Nature, as we perceive her with our senses and our intellects, is
only our 'Merkwelt,' as Uexkiill would say/ The forms of
recognition which have been proved by Kant and his followers,
relate only to the structural pkn of specific souls.2 If there-
fore its boundaries can be moved, it should be possible, not
only to enlarge, but to exceed the limitations laid down by
Kant. Whether this is da facto possible has not yet been ascer-
tained scientifically, but it seems to me to be most significant

1 Compare his Innenwelt und Untwelt der^ Tiere> Berlin, 1909, J. Springer.

2 Compare my Prolegomena zw Naturphilosophie,

122

INDIA PART in

that the assertions of the occultists correspond from beginning
to end with the postulates of criticism: they all teach that the
power of increasing experience and experiencing differently is
dependent upon the formation of new organs 5 that the acquisi-
tion of powers of clairvoyance is exactly like the acquisition
of sight on the part of a blind man, and that the step on to
'higher' planes of reality means nothing but stepping beyond
the frame of Kantian experience. In any case, all philosophers,
psychologists and biologists would do well to concern them-
selves at long last seriously with occult literature. I have
pointed, among the writers who are in question, to Leadbeater,
although this clairvoyant does not enjoy general appreciation
even among his own group: I did so because I have found his
writings, in spite of the frequency of childish traits in them,
more instructive than others of their kind. He is the only one
whom I know whose power of observation is more or less on
the level of a scientist, and he is the only one whose descriptions
are plain and simple. In the ordinary sense of the word he is
not talented enough to be able to invent what he declares he has
seen, nor, like Rudolph Steiner, is he capable of working upon
his material in such a way that it would be difficult to differ-
entiate between that which he has perceived and that which he
has added* He is hardly intellectually equal to his material.
Nevertheless, again and again I meet with assertions on his
part, which, on the one hand, are probable, and, on the other,
correspond to philosophical truths. What he sees after his
own fashion (very often without understanding it) is in the
highest degree full of significance. He has, therefore, in all
probability seen something which really exists.

In writing the above I do not in any way wish to defend the
system of the theosophists as it exists to-day, nor of any other
traditional occult teachings. I have the most serious doubts
of the correctness of most of the interpretations which are put
upon the observed facts by these systems, and so far as the
systems themselves are concerned, I lack every opportunity of
testing everything which is not connected with the normal
processes of consciousness. I do not know if each plane
possesses its own fauna, and I do not know whether there are

CHAP. 19 A D Y A R 123

spirits, elementals or gods, and whether these creatures, if
they exist, possess the peculiarities which clairvoyants ascribe
to them with tolerable unanimity. It may bej it is certain
that nature is much richer than it can possibly appear to our
limited consciousness, and an honest man who asserts that he
can perceive astral beings is, in all circumstances, more worthy
of attention than all the critics put together who deny the
possibility of such experience from empirical or rationalistic
considerations. Last but not least — not to leave unmentjoned
the most extreme possibilities — it is certain that ecstatic vision-
aries cannot be comprehended exhaustively by the science of
medicine. Such men experience what no cnorma? being could
possibly sense, and that their experiences are not merely
phantasmagorical is proved conclusively by the fact that 'god-
seers' have always stood on a spiritually higher level than most
other men, and history has shown that they have embodied,
not only the strongest, but also the most beneficent forces.
The most obvious objection against these visions of God was
already answered by Al Ghazzali. 'There are people/ he
wrote, cwho are born blind or deaf. The former have no Idea
of light and colour, and it is impossible to teach it to them, and
the latter have no idea of sound. In the same way, intel-
lectuals are deprived of the gift of intuition: does this justify
them in denying it? Those who possess it see the design with
the eye of the mind. Of course, one could say to them: com-
municate to us what you see. However, what is the good if I
describe to a man possessed of sight a district which he has
never seen? No matter how vivid my description may be, he
can never acquire a correct idea of it, and a man who was bora
blind is still less able to do so.' According to the express evi-
dence of all occultists, a change in the condition of our con-
sciousness is essential before we can experience the supernatural}
it appears a priori impossible, therefore, to test occult experi-
ences from our present plane of consciousness. We would be
entitled to be radically sceptical if two things could be proved:
if firstly, a change in the condition of our consciousness, which
is'to open new possibilities of experience, were inconceivable in
principle; and, secondly, if the means were not enumerated

I24 INDIA PARTHI

which would lead to this achievement. Neither supposition is
true. The existence of different planes of consciousness, im-
plying different possibilities of experience, is a fact. The ob-
servation of a dragon-fly differs from that of a starfish j the
world of men is richer than that of the octopus. The differ-
ences between the possibilities of experience in differently
gifted human beings is scarcely less great. The born meta-
physician perceives mental realities instantly, whereas ^their
existence can only be deduced by others, and all metaphysicians
experience something of this kind. An intelligent man ex-
periences more and differently than a stupid onej for 'under-
standing' is just as much a direct perceiving of specific realities
as 'seeing,* and the stupid individual cannot^ understand.
Finally, men, as everybody knows, display abilities in a hyp-
notic condition which are denied to them in their normal wak-
ened state. In fact, there can be no doubt that there are
different conditions of consciousness. As to the path which we
must follow in order to reach occult experiences, it has been
handed down to us with an exactitude which leaves nothing to
be desired. Into the bargain, this tradition has been corrob-
orated unanimously by every sect of occultists. Therefore,
the second principal objection is also removed. Anyone who
wishes to test the assertions of the occultists should undergo
the training which is said to develop the organs of clairvoy-
ance. He alone has a right to controvert the soundness of their
dicta who has been trained according to their precepts, and
then discovered that he can see nothing. If one of us attempts
to dispute their statements, it is just as ridiculous as if he
wished to test with the bare eye the soundness of observations
which an astronomer makes by the aid of his telescope.

The Indians have done more than anyone else to perfect the
method of training which leads to an enlargement and deepen-
ing of consciousness. And the leaders of the theosophical
movement freely confess that they owe their occult powers to
tike Indian Yoga, I have discussed these questions in detail
with Mrs. Besant as well as with Leadbeater. There is no
doubt that both of them are honest, and both assert that they
possess possibilities of experience, some of which are known

CHAP, ig ADYAR 125

under abnormal conditions, most of which, however, are totally
unknown} both of them declare that they have acquired these
powers in course of practice. Leadbeater, for instance,
originally possessed no 'psychic5 gifts* As to Annie Besant,
there is one thing of which I am certain: this woman controls
her being from a centre which, to my knowledge, only very
few men have ever attained to. She is gifted, but not by any
means to the degree one might suppose from the impression
created by her life's work. Her importance is due to the depth
of her being, from which she rules her talents. Anyone who is
an adept with an imperfect instrument, achieves more than a
clumsy individual does with superior means. Mrs. Besant
controls herself — her powers, her thoughts, her feelings, her
volitions — so perfectly that she seems to be capable of greater
achievements than men of greater gifts. She owes this to Yoga.
If Yoga is capable of so much, it may be capable of even more,
and thus appears entitled to one of the highest places among
the paths to self-perfection.

I AM taking the rich opportunities offered by the Adyar
library in carder to complete my knowledge concerning Yoga*
If I summarise everything which is contained in the writings
of the Indians, together with the Yoga regulations of classical
antiquity, of the Egyptians, the Chinese, the Christian Church
and modern science — and this is quite possible — then I find
that, disregarding the creation of new psychic organs whose
processes are still wrapped in darkness, and will presumably
remain so, like every creative process which may be f acilitated
but never realised, the essential points are these: firstly,
and above all, power of concentration must be developed^
secondly, the involuntary activity of the mind must be eEmi-
natedj thirdly, those processes of the soul must be vitalised
whose predominance seems desirable. The goal towards which
these systems aspire differs, of course; sometimes magical
powers are aimed at, sometimes union with God, identification
with the Absolute, or earthly well-bemgj in this respect they
only agree in asserting that Yoga heightens and potentialises

I26 INDIA PARTIII

life. With regard to its technique, there is divergence in so far
as sometimes stress is laid on physical, and sometimes on psy-
chic practices, and that, among these, sometimes the one and
sometimes the other are preferred. As far as their significance
goes, they are all in complete agreement

The inner truth of this significance is so obvious that I am
surprised that Yoga practice has not long ago been introduced
into the curriculum of every educational institution. ^There is
no doubt that the strengthening of all the forces of life is the
function of their heightened concentration? and concentration
signifies undoubtedly the technical basis of all progress. In
love, in every passion which Vorks miracles,' ^the psychic
powers seem concentrated. A strong personality is more col-
lected than a weak one. All progress in recognition depends
upon increase of attention; all progress of character depends
upon the concentration of various talents round about an ideal
centre} and all spiritual progress is conditioned by the spiritual-
isation of the psychic complex by means of the deepest self,
which can only take place by means of increased inwardness,
that is to say, increased concentration. Concentration un-
doubtedly is the way to perfection. If there are means, as Yoga
philosophy asserts, of increasing these capacities to a greater
extent than any other system, then their application is decidedly
advisable.— The value of the second aim of Yoga training,
that of silencing the involuntary psychic activity, is equally
convincing. Every superfluous activity wastes strength. We
have at our disposal so limited a measure of energy that the
less we expend uselessly, the more remains for intelligent
application* Every onliriary man expends quite irresponsibly
much power upon the interplay of automatic psychic processes;
in his consciousness one content relieves another aimlessly
and at tremendous speed. If it is possible to impede such
action, then energy is saved which would otherwise be thrown
awayj this energy accumulates, and if one learns how to
arrest permanently this automatic play of thoughts, just as
every one learns to keep his body, which originally is fidgety,
m quiescence until the moment it is really needed, then, quite
possibly, the accumulated f orce induces such a change in the

CHAP, ig ADYAR 127

organism that it acquires new capacities. The value of learning
and controlling quiescence cannot be doubted. All strong
minds are marked by the fact that they are not fidgety, that
they can relax and contract at will, and that they can give their
attention to one problem more continuously than weak minds*
They are the masters of their 'consciousness and not the serv-
ants of automatic action j they do not radiate the energy which
they have continuously, but they allow it to accumulate until
the moment that they need it. Most of the Yoga practices, to
use the language of the mystics, serve the purpose of making
the soul quiescent* All meditation consists in controlling con-
sciousness in such a way as to retain it in a motionless position
— it is immaterial whether, for this purpose, an external object,
an idea, a concept or nothingness, is focused. On the one
hand, it is a question of practising concentration, but for the
most part it is a question of practising pure quiescence, and I
can say, from my own experience, that this apparently stupid
and often ridiculed practice is the more important of the two*
Quite apart from the fact that in the beginning it requires not a
little concentration in order to keep in check one's flow of
thoughts, the mere accumulation of force which absolute still-
ness brings with it creates an increase in one's power of con-
centration* It is unbelievable how important for our inner
growth the shortest periods of meditation are, provided they
are practised regularly. A few minutes of conscious abstraction
every morning effect more than the severest training of the
attention through work. This explains, amongst other things,
the strengthening effect of prayer.

The third important consideration of all Yoga practice refers
to the vitalisation of desired concepts. The significance of this
consideration is not in question, as every one knows that edu-
cation depends ultimately upon the power of suggestion.1
Only Yoga philosophy asserts that suggestion is capable of a
great deal more than science has proved. They daim that it
not only alters one's original psychic equilibrium, but that it
adds new elements to it. If only you imagine that you possess

*I have treated at length the edticative side of suggestion in my book
Schopferische Erkenntniss, Darmstadt, 1922.

I2g . INDIA

a quality which hitherto has not been your own but which you
desire, the strength of your desire that you should possess it
will create itj if only you imagine long enough that certain
organs of your astral body, which are not developed in ordinary
men, are developed in you, then they will manifest themselves.
In the psychic world, desire really creates all reality.— In prin-
ciple this is undoubtedly true, and it may be that the Yogi are
right in what they assert* What inclines me to accept their
statements are the enormous, scarcely credible changes which
are brought about in men who energetically practise the spir-
itual exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola. These practices-
invented by a psychologist of the first rank — concern them-
selves exclusively with the power of imagination. The ^disciple
must experience in imagination what he would experience in
reality in case he reached his goal. And eventually he really
does become transformed in accordance with his imagined
ideal. In fact, the men who have been trained in these practices
of meditation (and they are not only Jesuits) all possess in a
high degree the qualities which they desire. Now he who
practises these spiritual exercises with such iron determination
that he acquires unusual powers of concentration and qui-
escence, will inevitably develop into a human being with
capacities which have always been considered as peculiar to
members of the Jesuit Order, and which have also justifiably
made the laity regard the Jesuits as uncanny: they become
virtuosos in will-power, acrobats of versatility, and connois-
seurs and influencers of men without parallel. They are Yogis,
they have become the masters of their souls, in the same sense
as athletes have become masters of their body, and they are
proportionately strong. The highest embodiments of the
Jesuitical type, whose existence can be proved, constitute an
unchallengeable proof of the value of Yoga practice.

THE reflection upon the Jesuits leads me to consider one of
the most misunderstood aspects of Yoga practice* It is the
belief that the strengthening or transmuting of the forces of
life somehow or other necessarily involves moral and spiritual

CHAP, ig ADYAR 129

progress. Yoga practice in itself is something purely technical,
like any form of gymnastics, and can be of advantage to any-
one, and does not contradict any point of view* It is not true
that moral behaviour and ennobling work by themselves are
necessary conditions to the attainment of 'occult J powers: they
are necessary conditions to spiritualisation, which is something
totally different. On the whole, the popular notion is far more
correct, which regards the magician as a spiritual cripple, a
foolish simpleton who has renounced all humanity in order to
attain magical powers. The serious practice of Yoga exercised
with a view to a heightening of existence, and to awakening
new psychic forces (not those of spiritualisation) demands such
a measure of cutting oneself off from most of what enlarges the
soul, that exclusive occupation with Yoga has probably deteri-
orated spiritually most of those who have subjected themselves
to this training. Everything depends in what spirit, in what
way, and for what reason Yoga is practised. The Jesuits, for
instance, that is to say, Yogis at best, who are not inferior to
the greatest Indian Yogis, discipline themselves in the spirit
of a presupposed dogma, to unqualified obedience and uncon-
ditional refusal to consider their own judgment, by means of
artificially evoked moods, for the purpose of becoming the
best possible tools for their Church. As a result, they not only
fail to attain any independent recognition, but the question of
conviction, of metaphysical truth, arises less and less, and they
become more and more the selfless organs of that to which
they have sworn obedience, organs trained to an incredible
degree for playing any part which is meted out to them. Any-
one who disciplines himself along the lines of a presupposed
faith will become more and more blindly faithfulj again, if this
discipline is guided by selfish intentions, his egoism will in-
crease accordingly. The fact is that Yoga practices heighten
every tendency which its disciple affirms, amongst others also
those which are noble and lofty. He who strives after recog-
nition without any prejudice will come nearer to truth by
Yoga, and consequently nearer to moral perfection, saintliness
and self-realisation. But then he who is concerned with the
highest ideals will scarcely develop into a magician on the way.

I30 INDIA PART in

These powers lie in a different direction, and have always
been regarded by great saints as undesirable. They belong to
that very 'nature' which must be overcome where spintualisa-
tion is aimed at. And since the control of this nature, which
ordinarily is not man's province, requires an even more exclu-
sive degree of attention than any earthly interest, it is not in
the least astonishing that progress in clairvoyance and similar
accomplishments usually goes hand in hand with human retro-
gression. You should read the writings of Leadbeater or Ru-
dolph Steiner, and see what a 'disciple' has to consider in
order to preserve his soul from evil. Anyone who follows these
teachings and is not possessed of a charm must become selfish,
even in so far as he was not selfish beforehand. This in itself
implies no reproachj the artist, the poet, the thinker, must, to
begin with, think of himself and of what is of advantage and
disadvantage to his mood, if he is to achieve anything of im-
portance; every one for whom his person is the instrument on
which he plays must act in this manner. But the artist, the
poet, and the thinker do not assert that they are spiritualising
themselves in living in accordance with the requirements of
their professions, as the Spiritual' pupil does. And for this
reason it must be emphasised that the knowledge of higher
worlds and spiritualisation are not necessarily connected in
any way at all. On the contrary, the occultist is, as a rule, an
inferior human being, as popular legend has pronounced him
to be.

The metaphysical interest of Yoga depends on the fact that,
in making man more profound — an increase of potentialities
always effects profundity simultaneously — it also makes him
progressively universal. Compromises are the products of the
surfacej if this loses its soul through interiorisation, then all
the forces are collected in root feelings, and they bear a radical
character. An advanced Yogi is either a lover or a hater, a
Srecogniser' or a believer, either extremely selfish or extremely
selfless. This explains too the old belief in the two schools of
wfiite and black magic, and finally the belief in Ormuzd and
Afcriman} this ultimately accounts for the content of truth in
the ideas of absolute Good and absolute EviL At a certain
depth of profundity the soul is in fact faced by two apparently

CHAP. 19 A D Y A R 131

equivalent alternatives: the soul may radiate the same elemen-
tary force, either positively or negatively. All compromise
seems impossible. This position, however, is not the most
extreme. It is the most extreme from the angle of the will,
for will is blind, but recognition goes beyond this point of view.
The wise man realises that the difference between good and
evil is fundamentally the same as the difference between life
and death, that only positively active forces are backed by life,
and that they alone are continually supported by an eternal
will. Anyone who has really understood anything will deter-
mine and act accordingly} as Guyau says: cCelui qui n'agit pas
comme il pense, pense imparfaitement.' Our actions are
necessarily positive. And thus we perceive, as it were illumi-
nated by lightning, how right the Indians are in assuming that
salvation lies in recognition j and at this point we realise, how-
ever dimly, the inner cause for the ineradicable faith of hu-
manity in absolute values. These values are always assumed
to be positive, for negative absolute values are inconceivable.
This is obvious: they signify the exponents of consciousness of
that which the mind desires at bottom and ultimately, and
the mind desires ultimately to live, that is to say, to pour out
its substance in pure spontaneity. At a somewhat higher level
— at the level where the will appears in itself to be the pvmus
movens — the original impulse is divided into two opposed
tendencies. These branch out in their turnj the nearer they
approach the surface, the more complex do their interrelations
become, they intermingle with utter disregard of character and
origin, and ultimately their texture is so intertwined and con-
fused that differentiation seems almost impossible. Thus all
superficial formations can be given a positive as well as a
negative interpretation, and only on the rarest occasions is a
certain judgment possible, whether a specific action is 'evil^or
'good.' Thus all definite life is doomed to death* But life
itself knows neither of evil nor of death.

WHEN I wrote down the above observations, I was not suffi-
ciently clear to what an extent the misunderstanding to which
they relate controlled the minds of the theosophists. Since

I32 INDIA PART III

then I have noted that most of them are concerned with the
attainment of 'higher* powers, whose possession they regard
as a sign of spiritual advancement. They thus prove that their
attitude is specifically Western, just where they believe their
ideas to be entirely Indian. They are possessed by the truly
Western spirit, which desires expansion, which loves the chase
after riches and external success; for that is what the strife
after the Siddhis means, and nothing else.

It is really true that there is less difference between theoso-
phists who wish to ascend to a higher world, and American
prospectors, than between the latter and the ancient Indian
Rishis. Expansion of consciousness in the sense of extension
implies a purely biological process and no more. The occultist
whose organs permit him an insight into hyperphysical
spheres is biologically more advanced than the ordinary man,
exactly in the sense in which the modern technically trained
engineer is biologically further than his ancestor, the primitive
agricultural labourerj no doubt such progress is desirable,
only it is spiritually meaningless. If the theosophists would
recognise their efforts as worldly, nothing whatever could be
said against them. I personally sympathise with them alto-
gether, because I find it highly satisfactory that at last a
considerable number of men are pursuing occult studies sys-
tematically, no matter how erroneous their presuppositions may
be. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that their all too
simple belief that they are pursuing the road to saintliness,
when in fact they are striving for worldly advancement, makes
them a little ridiculous.

It is extraordinary that men have not yet realised that prog-
ress and spiritualisation belong to different dimensions, in spite
of the fact that no great religious teacher, from Buddha and
Christ downwards, has failed to warn them before this con-
fusion. I will attempt to account to myself in dear words
concerning their true relationship. Spiritualisation signifies
self-realisation; it means the penetration of appearances with
its utmost significance; it means the ensouling of the former
from die utmost living depths, no matter whether one call it

CHAP. 19 ADYAR 133

Atman, Weltseele, God, principle of life, or anything else.
This definition clearly indicates why no biological process as
such, no matter how high the level is to which it may lead, can
attain to spiritualisation. Progress enlarges the sphere of that
which can be transfused by soul j whether this transfusion really
takes place is another question. As a rule, as long as progress
lasts this does not occur, for, although expansion and a gain in
profundity are not mutually exclusive in principle, they are
usually so in practice, because no one, unless possessed of the
most exceptional vitality, can develop simultaneously in two
different directions. (This explains why the Westerner, who is
so enamoured of progress, is the most unspiritual being in the
world.) But even after the paroxysm of progress is over, after
the desire for stability has changed places with the impulse for
evolution, spiritualisation does not take place for a certain
period. Naturally: the newly created body is not a suitable
means of expression for spirit, for the spirit does not succeed
at once in transfusing it. Man remains superficial because he
does not know how to penetrate to the living depths of ^his
being, through the unexplored and unknown regions of him-
s§lf . This also explains why so many prophets have declared
as blessed the simple, the poor in spirit, and those who possess
blind faith as opposed to higher types of men. Such an atti-
tude is unjustified, because in all circumstances the talented
and cultured individual is more than the fool. On the other
hand, the former has greater difficulty, owing to his richer and
more complicated nature, 'in finding the path to his depths,
than the man who possesses so little that may arrest and hinder
him. As a result, it is a fact that spiritualised beings are more
frequent amongst simpletons than amongst talented men. This
very fact is at the bottom of the truth which makes Chris-
tians declare as blessed the weary and heavy-laden, as opposed
to happier people. In itself this judgment too is an error,
because everything great emanates from joy, and he who lives
in the spirit is filled with pure delight. But the unhappy being
who has little cause to affirm his external circumstances, finds
more easily the path down to his innermost soul than the more

I34 INDIA PART in

favoured mortal, who is tempted to pause at every turn. And
for this reason pain and sorrow have proved themselves to be
the most reliable guides to God. .,..,.

What are we to accept, then, as the exponent of spirituality,
since an advanced stage of progress is not in question? Per-
fection. The degree of perfection, and it alone, is the true
gauge of spiritualisation. If this means penetration of appear-
ance by its extreme significance, then it also means simul-
taneously the supreme realisation of its possibilities. I am not
the first to realise that perfection is the one thing that we need}
Buddha expressly calls himself the Perfected One, the Chinese
*wise' and 'noble' men have been regarded as such expressly on
account of their perfection, and the latter idea has at an early
stage become the ideal of the Christian struggle for salvation
too. This idea really contains everything} even^ realising God
within oneself does not mean more than realising one's own
possibilities perfectly. Thus it becomes evident why the
efforts for progress and spiritualisation practically preclude
each other: the man who wishes to progress seeks new possi-
bilities, he who seeks God attempts to fulfil those^which are
already in existence. If realisation by itself is our ideal, then
all possibilities are theoretically of equal value. And there is
yet another purely critical consideration which proves that per-
fection is the true spiritual ideal. All spiritual values— beauty,
truth, goodness — are characterised by their absolute quality}
and no form of scepticism can dispute this. What does that
mean? It is possible to doubt the objectivity of a rational
concept of the Absolute} it stands or falls with a fetitio -prin-
ctpit, so that little is done for recognition in tracing the beauty
of a work of art, for instance, back to its participation in the
idea of absolute beauty. A being or an object embodies abso-
lute value when its possibilities are given supreme realisa-
tion and perfection. And it must not be supposed that in the
word Supreme,' another Qetitio pincipi is concealed} it is
perfectly possible to speak of 'supreme realisation,* because all
concrete possibilities are limited. For every being there is an
extreme limit or degree of self-realisation. Once this has been
reached, then, as if by magic, absolute values seem to be mani-

CHAP, ig ADYAR 135

fested. If physical possibilities are realised perfectly, we be-
hold beautyj if the possibilities realised are mental and intel-
lectual ones, truth is realised} or if human and ethical ones,
then a divine man has been created. Perfection is the spiritual
ideal.

Now, the erroneousness of any attempt at progress, where
spiritual realisation is the goal, appears quite clearly. Since
perfection is the exponent of spirituality, since the degree of
the former expresses the degree of the latter, a perfected lower
condition is evidently nearer to God than a higher condition
in an imperfect state. Perfect physical beauty is of higher
spiritual value than an imperfect philosophy} a perfect animal
is more spiritual than an imperfect occultist. The Atman finds
complete expression in the lowest form in so far as it is perfect.
External barriers do not limit inwardly, because spirituality is a
principle which, as such, lacks what I may call any factor for
extension. An amoeba can express the principle of the world
as completely as the multiple personality of Brahma. This
principle is the essential and eternal which alone remains alive
beyond all creation and decay. Why do we regard so many
dicta of ancient sages as profounder than anything which has
been pronounced later, although their concrete ideas have
been proved erroneous? Because they express perfectly, no
matter how imperfect their means were, the principle of that
which they intended to convey. Their dicta are essentially
true, however erroneous they may be on the surface} there-
fore, no matter what progress is made in conceptual recog-
nition, they will never be controverted. Thus spiritualisation
gains the victory until death. Manifestation upon manifesta-
tion has disappeared in the course of the history of Thought,
and with it the spirit of all those whose being was entirely
contained in their manifestation. But the few who have used
the latter only as a means of expression for a profounder signifi-
cance, the few who have embodied this significance perfectly,
they continue to live} and time cannot kill them. And some-
times I believe I know that personal man too can become
immortal in this sense. No doubt, his body is pledged to
death} his soul also is certain of ultimate disruption. The

136 INDIA PART HI

principle, however, is indestructible. It continues to act ob-
jectively, from reincarnation to reincarnation, on both sides
of the grave, in some unknown sense- The bearers of this
principle change, and they do not guess, or, if so, only f aintly,
that their essence is eternal. The rare man who succeeds in
anchoring his consciousness in true Being, knows himself to
be immortal, and death no longer signifies an end to him. . . .
Is progress, in the biological sense, without any relation to
spiritualisation? Does the attempt of the theosophists to
develop occult forces in them, mean, in their sense, a radical
misconception? There is a connection between them, but a
different one from that which the theosophist imagines. Every
higher biological level gives to the mind and soul a richer
means of expression. This is not meant in the absolute sense,
for everywhere in nature a gain is paid for, no matter how
cheaply, by losses* Man does not possess many capacities
which animals own, and the wise man is often incompetent
where the child of this world succeeds. But this much is prob-
ably true, that the spirit expresses itself more freely on every
higher biological plane, and to this extent, measured by the
human standard, he can manifest himself better on each suc-
cessive level. Therefore, as empirical beings, we have a
spiritual as well as a temporal interest in rising on the ladder of
creation* It means nothing to us if we seem perfectly spiritual-
ised in the sense of beauty, for only that of which we are con-
scious concerns us personally, and only that which we have
subjectively ^experienced and understood exists for us. Now
our possibilities of experience are unquestionably enlarged
and heightened by psychic development. But at this point
we have to ask ourselves the question: what is ultimately
important-H:o see or to be? Apparently to be. Recognition
is preliminary, it must be transformed in life in order to gain
spiritual sigmficance. And therefore the desirability of psychic
perfection implies only the necessity of a digression for beings
of a special find, it does not necessarily involve a short cut.
MOTeoyer, experience shows that fewer people reach their
goal via this digression than without it. This explains once
more the spuitual advantage assigned to the simple, and the

CHAP, ig ADYAR 137

noticeable lack of spirituality which characterises most psychi-
cally talented beings. — What, then, are we to do? The old
Indian doctrine points the way which says: *It is better to
follow your own dharma no matter how low it may be, rather
than the dharma of another, be it ever so illustrious.' Every
being should strive only after his specific perfection, in what-
ever direction this may lie. He who is destined for action
should perfect himself as a man of action, the man gifted
artistically should aim at perfect artistry} only he who has
been called to saintliness should strive after it, and above all,
only the born clairvoyant should seek perfection in the form
of the occult. Anyone who aims at a form of perfection which
does not correspond with his inner possibilities, loses his time
and misses his goal. On the other hand, there is no doubt that,
at some time or another, the man who follows his own dharma,
no matter whither it lead him, will attain to his aim. And this
is true, not only in relation to his spiritual perfection, but also
in the biological sense. Every possibility which has been ex-
hausted creates, phoenix-like, new possibilities from within it-
self. Just as the full fling of youth wakens the capacities for
man's estate, so every perfected expression of life, so far as its
underlying principle still lives, gives rise to new possibilities.
It will remain eternally true what Jesus Christ said, in His
mythical manner: 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God and the
rest shall be added unto you.* If you strive only after per-
fection, biological progress will come of its own accord. ^This
is the only means by which the desire for progress and spiritual-
isation may be combined. He who seeks progress first will
never attain to perfection. It is wonderful how plastically the
myth of the transmigration of souls expresses the truth of this
relation: the man who has faithfully fulfilled his dharma in a
lowly position in life will be reborn in a higher onej he who
has entered upon the path of saintliness will gain, through
incarnation upon incarnation, more advantageous circum-
stances. In fact, the man who quite unselfishly strives after
spiritualisation can, not only pass through all the ages in one
life, he can even find ultimate liberation during his mortal
existence (become a Jivanmukta)* Of course he can do this.

i3g INDIA

For this liberation consists, quite independently of the acci-
dent of life or death, in the at-one-ness of consciousness with
the cause of life.

I AM told a great deal of what happens in other worlds and
what they look like. Most of my informants only believe,
but some are convinced that they know, and they relate un-

cannot reject their statements as impossible,

oppose

am informed of tilings whose inner probability strikes me, and
again and again in my heart of hearts I say to myself: yes, of
course, it cannot be otherwise, and I really know it myself.
But I do not dare to take such a view seriously, since fairy-
tales, born of the spirit of man, always seem probable to men,
in fact, they seem more probable than events taking place in
non-human nature; because, moreover, every living mind
longs for the miraculous. For purposes of my own inner re-
assurance I exclude for a while the man of science in me, and
submit with childish openness to my new impressions* I let
every story enter into my being, I accept every idea without
question, and I am pleased to permit palmists to examine my
hand, phrenologists the form of my head, and astrologers the
circumstances of my birth.

How rich must be the life of all those who believe in all the
ramifications whose existence theosophy affirms! Even vul-
garly superstitious people have excited genuine envy in me in
frequent moods; for a time I trained myself to accept the
superstitions of my temporary surroundings while I was there,
because life assumes marvellous colour through the recognition
of mysterious relationships. The system of theosophy has the
additional advantage that it delights not only the imagination

CHAP. 19 ADYAR 139

but also the intellect. If it should correspond with truth, then
this existence would be justified in a high degree by reason.
Personally, of course, it is the excessive rationalism of the
theosophic view of the world which gives me pause. Reason
usually penetrates so little into the heart of things, every-
thing fundamental is usually so irrational, theories on the
whole prove themselves proportionately inadequate as they
attempt to deal with fundamentals — is it really possible that
such a simple scheme can do justice to the significance of
reality? If it were so, personally I would regret it. . . . The
question cannot, however, be decided. It is quite feasible
that theosophy is right in spite of my philosophic scruples*
Everything does not harmonise in this world. I, however, am
at liberty to hope that the theories of theosophy are nothing
more than crude allegories.

For the rest, I would not mind being in the position of those
who slip at will from one plane of existence on to anotherj
their life must be exceedingly rich in variety. What have I
not suffered from the fact that I must always live in the same
body, always enter into relations with the world with the same
external organism! Those who have learnt to escape from
their bodies and to assimilate the pictures of nature with differ-
ent senses, in a different form, are better off j they can never
get tired of their existence. Unfortunately, however, those
who pride themselves, with the greatest semblance of justi-
fication, on their ability to change their form of existence,
suffer from the disease of all specialists: they overestimate the
value of their art} they believe that they are nearer to the
Atman simply by changing their position, and they assert
that every new plane they have climbed to embodies a ^higher*
degree of reality. For this reason they are not able to do justice
to my question as to whether the statement of Jesus that the
first shall be last might be literally true in the sense that every
sphere offers special means of expression, thanks to which the
man who succeeds best on earth may prove to be helpless in the
astral world, in whose lighter air the dreamers, incompetent
people in the earthly sense, should find a greater measure of
well-being. I strongly incline to the belief that this is so,

140 INDIA PART in

assuming, of course, what I do not know, namely, that there is
an astral world. But I will never believe, unless it should be
proved to me, that those whose home is not on earth are, for
that reason, more valuable. Either one gift is worth as much
as another, or else power of expression on earth determines a
man's rank. I personally am firmly convinced that all the
main decisions are taken on earth, and that those are mistaken
who believe that life after death is more complete* Since I
cannot speak from personal experience, I am unable to form
an assertive judgment, but I have studied carefully the reports
of others, and they entirely support my view. Our much de-
spised life on earth has the one advantage of offering serious
resistance. Substantial formations can only be created out of
resistant media, and only where there is resistance can progress
take place. In this connection our earthly life provides the
richest opportunities. Accordingly, the holy writings of the
Indians teach expressly that the incarnation into human life is
the most advantageous, so much so that even gods must be
born again as men if they are to get beyond divinityj they
would remain eternally what they are in their all too fluid
world. A man who is enough in earnest can, on the other
hand, reach Nirvana directly. I can well imagine that there
are people who would be more at home in other worlds than
here, but they are the impotent and the weaklings. The man
who can express himself clearly is, in the absolute sense, more
than the man who merely guesses and stammers. It is not
difficult to dream, to guess, and to indulge in feelings and
moods. It is only^when the word has become flesh that it is
realised to perfection, and this realisation succeeds best on
earth. I therefore confess^ as far as I am concerned, that the
more I hear of other possibilities of life, the more decidedly
am^I in favour of exploiting this one. That which can be
achieved in it is so important that it matters little that he who
is expressive on earth will fail correspondingly in other spheres.
If Odysseus had asked the lamenting shadow of Achilles
whether, for the sake of gaining a better life after death, he
would undo all he had done in his heroic existence, he would
undoubtedly have turned his back upon him in contempt.

CHAP, ig ADYAR 141

Most theosophists do not care for speculations of this kindj
they believe, and they want every one to believe, and they are
scarcely less inimical to any attempt to criticise their dogma
than any other religious sect- This shows how little the funda-
mental nature of man is altered by even the widest profession
of faith! Most theosophists do not recognise that their own
form of religion, amongst all the others, can claim only relative
validity. (For theosophy is a spedal religion, in spite of all the
statutes of their society, and it must be so in so far as it wishes
to be alive at all.) Will men never get beyond the idea that
one spedal faith alone can save them? I am almost afraid that
they will not, for it is too tempting and its apparent truth all
too evident. The theory that only the believer can find sal-
vation corresponds probably to facts in so far as no one can
hope consdously to survive death unless he is consdous of his
immortality, unless, in fact, he has lit the divine spark within
him. And since the founder of every religion knows from
experience only one means of kindling this light, one cannot
reproach him when he proclaims: He who does not believe in
me is lost*

ANCIENT mistakes of humanity are, in all too many instances,
not only not eradicated by theosophical beliefs, but they ex-
perience new reincarnations. To-day I am especially thinking
of the time-honoured overvaluation of diseased conditions. I
have been induced to consider them in view of the attitude of
the many psychologically and neurologically abnormal people
who belong to the Theosophical .Society. This overestimatioa
in itself is not estranging, for doubtlessly disease is a positive
condition, it represents less a minus in equilibrium than a new
form which for many purposes is superior to the normal con-
dition. A little while ago this became very clear to me once
more, when (for very good reasons) I imagined that I had
been infected by the plague, and the mere idea, as is usual in
my case, made me so ill that I thought I was already beginning
to die. All self-centred interests vanished, I found myself
perfectly free, and all the powers of my soul radiated into

142 INDIA PART m

unlimited spheres, with the result that my consciousness o£
reality grew to an intensity which I do not experience normally.
The so-called normal consciousness is not its richest form,
because it chiefly represents the consciousness of the body.
When our living energy animates the latter to the full, then
the psychic forces are centred round the same point — undoubt-
edly the biological optimum — so that the soul only does, de-
sires and recognises whatever suits the requirements of our
physical organism. But whenever the body, for no matter what
reason, fails as the vehicle of life, or where such a state of
affairs has been brought about intentionally, consciousness is
enlarged in every one who possesses the capacity for enlarge-
ment. Then the soul lives entirely in its own world, unfet-
tered by physical barriers. Hence the wonderful serenity of
so many people who are dying or dangerously ill. Hence the
frequent co-existence of a great mind and a weak body. Hence,
too, the idea of mortification, of artificial weakening of the
body through fasting, waking and chastisement. There is no
doubt that violent means of this kind are capable of increasing
and enhancing consciousness. In fact, the possibilities in store
are far greater in number than those which, as far as I know,
are practised by ascetics. In the case of introspective natures,
becoming blind leads to very satisfactory results, and such a
process has not, as far as I know, ever been practised for this
purpose. I was blind once for a certain period after an opera-
tion on my eyes, and I must say that this time belongs to the
richest in my lifej it was so rich that I felt an unmistakable
impoverishment when the sight of my eyes returned to me.
While I was blind, my mental life was not disturbed by any-
thing foreign or external, and I was therefore able to enjoy its
own activity without interruption. I was much more intensely
conscious of its activity than usual, for my successive ideas,
so hard to lay hold of as a rule, seemed projected, as it were,
upon a dark screen, against which they appeared in exquisite
plasticity. Moreover, the lack of one important organ does
not only sharpen the rest, it gives them new problems, and this
changes our whole position in the long run to such a degree
that in a short time I entirely lost the consciousness of having

CHAP, ig ADYAR 343

lost anything, and I only had the feeling of being related to
the world in a new and most interesting form which may re-
semble that of blind-born animals.

According to facts., the attitude which sees a higher condition
in a diseased state is justified enough} at any rate, it must
appear so, especially to the theosophists, who see an ideal in
the acquisition of abnormal psychic powers, for they are evinced
most frequently by pathological natures. Nevertheless, this
attitude is fundamentally mistaken* The possession of higher
faculties in abnormal conditions means nothing, and does not
prove the very slightest inner progress. It would seem as
if abnormal qualities are paid for by the loss or modification
of normal ones, and where the price has not been excessive,
which is usually the case, they have at any rate been acquired
unprofitably. Pious souls are often estranged by the incon-
trovertible moral failings of an admired csaint*$ the unusual
faculties of such are all too often not the normal expression
of a higher level of existence, but the accidental prodiiet of
the diseased transference of an average psychic equiBbrium.
There is only a short step from such 'saints* to the ordinary
mediums, most of whom are humanly worthless. It literally
needs no art to be serene, detached, hypersensitive or even
clairvoyant, in a diseased conditionj one need only to cure
such higher beings, and they will reveal themselves very
rapidly as average men, for this is what they are in essencej this
is what they are before God. Of course, nothing can be said
against the man who practises magic as his profession, for he
must see how he can maintain himself in the condition on
which his powers depend. The essential inferiority -par &
says nothing against the performances of psydio-pathological
typesj the pearl is a product of a disease in the oyster. On the
other hand, one should not stamp every abnormally gifted
individual who betrays diseased peculiarities as a pathological
phenomenon. If Mahomet and St. Francis suffered from
attacks of hysteria, something similar may be said of Napoleon
and of Caesar} very complicated mechanisms which work under
high pressure are easily deranged occasionally, but this de-
rangement signifies nothing. Caesar was not essentially an

144 INDIA

epileptic, but the tremendous mental tension under which he
lived found its normal expression for him in this way, and the
same may be said mutatis mutandis of many of the greatest
spiritual heroes. On the other hand, the superstition must be
stomped out that miraculous gifts acquired by diseased over-
excitement turn their possessors into higher beings. Of course,
it is possible that in enlargement of consciousness and its
sphere of effectiveness, biological progress may result, but
only when the new powers are added to the old ones, not when
the new replace the old. Every diseased condition is an abso-
lute evil; only the Siddha may pass as a higher being who,
in other ways, is not less than a normal man, and only he may
count as an example.

What I have said here is probably self-evident to all edu-
cated Indians, as opposed to most of their European disciples.
It is astonishing how correctly they have always estimated these
relationships. The teachers of antiquity put down as an essen-
tial condition prior to accepting a pupil, that he should have
perfect health, an irreproachable nervous system and a robust
moral nature. They regarded the natural ability to see ghosts
as a symptom of mental disease— not because there are no
ghosts, but because their visibility, except when brought about
by a careful and professional training, does not signify an
enlargement but a pathological displacement of normal con-
sciousness. They only trained the perfectly healthy, and
according to tradition only a few of those ever reached their
goal, because the nerves of most of the pupils could not stand
the strain, for which reason it seemed desirable to discontinue
their training. At any rate, no modern movement which is
inspired by Indian Yoga should fail to accept the fundamental
Indian postulate as their own: the Yogi is essentially healthy}
he is the unquestioned master of his nerves j he is always in
equilibrium, and normal in every way. — Moreover, they
should never lose sight of the fact that the Indian Yogi — who
undoubtedly has gone beyond anyone else in this direction — is
an enemy of castigation. If he indulges in ascetic practices,
this amply means that he leads the life which from experience
is the most conducive to spiritual development} but he never

CHAP. 19 ADYAR 145

mortifies the flesh. He never goes to excesses of ^ fasting or
waking or any observance} he keeps to the diet which appears
to strengthen and not to weaken his nature, and he cultivates,
for the rest, an optimistic, cheerful and positive attitude.—
Finally, one thing should never be forgotten: if a man is.
really, not merely apparently, on a higher biological level of
development, he is not necessarily a higher being. Man is
biologically more advanced than the animals, but there are
idiots and rogues enough among us, and a low man is often
far beneath the ape. Thus many of those who have developed
abnormal forces are representatives of a higher order of nature,
but they are inferior representatives. It is not well to revere
them as gods. If one appraises their being rightly, one does
them greater justice} one escapes the danger of hurting one's
own soul by blind imitation, nor does one succumb to the
temptation of denying or rejecting positive assets for the sake
of recognised weaknesses. There is no doubt that not only
Buddha and Christ, but also Mahomet, Walt Whitman,
Swedenborg, William Blake and lesser men, were biologically
more advanced than we are. But they were neither perfect
nor omniscient, nor were they free from many serious failings.
They were mediocre representatives of a higher species.

Anyone who examines the mass of theosophists closely will
find it difficult to suppress a smile at their pretence that they
constitute the seed of the new 'race' which is to create the
civilisation of the future. The great majority of them are
people on a mental level below the average, who incline to
superstition} they are neuropathological, and possess the
readily spiteful egoism born of the desire for personal salva-
tion which is so characteristic of all who regard themselves
as specially chosen. Nevertheless, it is not impossible that
history will justify their assumption. In all probability the
essence of the teachings which among other rehgious com-
munities, are also professed by the Theosophical Society, will
soon become the faith of millions. (One must not forget how

wwcn tms iaiui wiii ««u^ «- v«*-" —j\ ";npi,4.

depends upon immeasurable and unknown factors} it might

INDIA PART Hi

be that of the Theosophical Society. What Religious Com-
munity did not in the beginning consist of quite insignificant
people? Neither St. Paul nor St. Augustine nor Calvin, nor
any other of the shining lights of later Christianity, would ever

impossible for them. No matter how capable they may be of
submitting to an ideal, an institution or an objective spirit,
their pride, and not only their pride, but, above all, their inner
truthfulness, would prevent them from following a living man,
not as a duly accredited representative, but a man as such.
While they behold only a man subject to human failings and
weaknesses, they cannot believe in divinity. Even in ^India,
par excellence the land of faith, no founder of religion of
whom I ever heard has had mentally important disciples dur-
ing his lifetime. The first who swarm around a new centre of
belief are, without exception, poor in spirit and superstitious,
for they want above all to be led* Then come worthy men
from practical life, generally brought to this pass by women;
and only when history has faded into mythology (which, of
course, can happen very rapidly in the East), when facts no
longer obstruct the process of idealisation, then the first emi-
nent minds follow in the general wake. And thus it can happen
that the members of the Theosophical Society of to-day, if
fortune is kind to them, will live in history as pioneers.

Anyone who has penetrated into the mechanics of religious
history will be careful to refrain from asserting the impossi-
bility of any event In this case those connections are lacking
altogether which reason must postulate, in order to be able
to construct at all. I have already pointed to the fact that it
is impossible to draw any conclusions from the importance of
the faithful to his faith. In just the same way it is impossible
to judge the significance of an originator by the significance of
his ideas. It is well known how rarely human and mental
greatness coincide. Not merely a weakling, but a highly
dubious individual, may produce ideas capable of moving the
world* This relation has been proved correct to a certain
degree even in the case of the founders of most religions. No

CHAP, ig ADYAR 147

matter how extravagandy legend may praise their all-compel-
ling personality — it is certain that during their lives they could
gain generally only an inferior audience j and this proves with
tolerable certainty that in the ordinary sense they were not
strong personalities, for such enforce recognition. A necessary
relationship between the entelechia of an idea and that of the
one which gave it birth, exists to so small an extent that, in the
case of the founders of several religions, it is not certain
whether they ever lived at all. Later myths have always
centred round a historical personality, but whether this per-
sonality was the real originator of their ideas is often question-
able. Southern Buddhism undoubtedly emanates from
Buddha, but the Mahayana doctrine, which underlies Northern
Buddhism, only dates back to the first century after Christj it
developed in the frontier districts between India and Central
Asia, where Greek and Brahmanic ideas intermingled, and its
doctrines are so much more akin to Christianity than to the re-
ligion of the son of Sakya that we are probably justified in
doubting whether these teachings are Buddhistic in anything
but name. The original teachings of Jesus are only one ele-
ment of the Christianity which has conquered the world. His
name has become the symbol and the focus of the innumerable
tendencies which in fathomless depths have controlled the for-
tunes of the Westj hence his enormous historical importance,
which is in no relation to the small degree in which his ideas
have been realised up till to-day. And the same thing happens
everywhere. Nietzscheism is in many ways directly opposed to
Nietzsche, and thousands acclaim the name of Bergson, where-
as his real teaching, if they could understand it, would move
these followers to anger* A man can rise to the very pinnade
of greatness in the historical sense without having lived at all,
without having taught what has conditioned his historical im-
portance, without, in fact, having taught anything at all, with-
out having been important, and so on* The ways of God are
inscrutable, we are told. It is certain that the ways of history
defy even the most far-reaching examination by the intelli-
gence. No matter how foolish anti-Semitism may be as an out-
look on the world, it must for all that have its justification, be-

148 INDIA PART m

cause the Jews are, and always have been, equally despised all
the world over, in the East even more than in the West. And
yet, if any people has a right to consider itself as the 'chosen,'
it applies to the Jews. Their faith underlies Christianity and
Islam, and in this way indirectly rules the world. In spite of
all suppression and contempt, the Jewish race has never lost its
character, and most of the leaders of intellectual Europe of to-
day belong to it Thus, the Theosophical Society, in spite of
the problematical character of many of its leaders, in spite of
the unsatisfactoriness of many of its teachings, and in spite
of the inferiority of most of its present members, may still
have a great future in store for itself.

I touched earlier on a point which merits closer investigation:
the apparent incapacity of most of those (the exceptions are
insignificant) who later on have been honoured as all-com-
pelling personalities, to influence their contemporaries directly.
All prophets have been scoffed at. This proves, as I have
already written, that they did not have the power to act as
great personalities do, for these have always been recognised as
such during their lifetime, although they have been regularly
attacked. On closer examination their insufficiency does not
seem particularly remarkable. The power of such minds is
manifested in a different sphere from that of the great in the
worldly sense, and they cannot affect those for whom their
sphere does not exist. Just as the power of an abstract intellect
is only felt by anyone who is capable of similar thought, just
as genius is only recognised by genius, so even the spiritual
giant is helpless when faced by a man who does not possess
spirituality. Of course, it can happen that in addition he is
powerful in the worldly sense — this was true in a high degree
of St. Augustine, Savonarola, Luther and a few others — but
as a rule this is not the case, for spirituality demands, on the
ooe hand, and produces, on the other, the more sublimated it
becomes, a proportionately frail nature. Spiritual geniuses
without exception demand faith to begin with, whereas worldly
geniuses only do so rarely, knowing that faith will follow upon
experience— why? Because the former can only influence
soils not attuned to theirs in so far as they meet them half-way j

CHAP. 19 ADYAR 149

they are, therefore, in the ordinary sense, typically weak. Yet
their power is really not in question. This is proved least of all
in the immediate conversion which it achieves — the objects of
their conversion are rarely to be taken seriouslyj their power
is expressed in the fact that they give significance and direction
to actions throughout all time. The ideas of Christianity,
accepted first by the lowly who hardly knew any better what
they were doing than the men who crucified the Saviour, have
penetrated more and more, as history progressed, all mani-
festation of life. This has happened to such an extent that
everything alive in the West actually goes back to the spirit of
Jesus Christ. The same may be said of Buddha and of Ma-
homet. In the long run spiritual forces have proved themselves
to be the strongest everywhere. They manifest themselves
in enigmatic ways: it is rarely the authentic words of the en-
lightened teachers which carry their doctrine through the
future} in almost no cases are they original writings, and most
of the traditions which relate to them are fables. They act as
intangible impulses which, emanating from the master, pass
through a thousand minds, through a thousand changes, con-
densations, misunderstandings, and yet preserve their magic
force and give direction to life for evermore. Perhaps Theos-
ophy possesses such an impulse at the present day? Who can
say? Time alone can prove it Theosophy asserts that it is
inspired by the 'masters/ omniscient supermen, who^ direct the
fate of the human race from unrecognised seclusion. This
belief in the Masters is often laughed at. Why do they hide
themselves? Why do they not act in a direct way? Why are
none of the great deeds of the human spirit traceable to similar
masters? Why do they employ, for the fulfilment of their
intentions, such obviously insufficient organs? I do not know
whether such masters exist, but beings of their description
are certainly possible theoretically. If they are supermen in
the spiritual sense, it may be true in extreme measure what has
been true of aU spiritually great men: they seem powerless in
all the lower spheres, they cannot act in them directly, and
therefore there is a very good reason why they wish to remain
in hiding. The process of elevation must be paid for every-

I50 INDIA PARTHI

where in nature: gentle creatures succumb to brutal ones,
spiritualised beings to ruffians, and the wise man is incapable
of a great deal which the man of the world achieves, etc. On
the other hand, however, if there are masters, then what the
theosophists assert concerning them cannot be truej they assert
that they could do everything, only that they do not do so
because, in their incomprehensible wisdom, they find it better
to leave it undone. It is quite certain that they are incapable
of what we are capable of. God also cannot do that which we
are able to perform, otherwise he would not give us such free
rein. Every level of existence has its specific barriers, and
these barriers seem all the more remarkable from the point
of view of the average man, the more spiritual a being is*

IT is asserted again and again that the doctrine of reincar-
nation is not an interpretation, but the direct expression of a
demonstrable fact. I cannot test this assertion, and therefore
refrain from judgment. None the less, this teaching is a
theory, and theories are not facts. I am surprised that no be-
liever in reincarnation has noticed that his belief amounts prac-
tically to the same as its opposite, the belief in the divinely
ordained cEinf urallemaligkeit' of every condition of life, such
as Confucianism and Lutheran Christianity presuppose. For
even the believer in reincarnation does not assert that the same
person progresses from incarnation to incarnation (no matter
how little this may be dear to the majority of its disciples, most
of whom have accepted this belief out of an instinct of self-
preservation), but he only asserts that there is an objective con-
nection acting from within, between the various forms and
manifestations of life. That is just what Lutheranism asserts,
only that his doctrine interprets differently the unifying link.
For this reason I would be inclined, as a critical philosopher,
to assume the same degree of truth in those theories which
preclude each other. One theory expresses the same facts
fcinetkally and the other statically.

The kinetic view of the processes of life undoubtedly pos-
sesses very great advantages. It justifies existence from the

CHAP. iQ ADYAR 15!

point of view of reason better than any other j it robs life of its
hopeless character, and gives us confidence and hope. I would
be very much surprised if, sooner or later, this view does not
predominate in the West* Nevertheless, now that I know
believers in reincarnation from personal contact, I must regard
the fact that Western humanity has not held this belief for a
few thousand years as possibly its greatest piece of good for-
tune* For most believers in reincarnation are indolent. No
wonder: since they have thousands of years in front of them
in order to advance, and since the processes of the world
advance them automatically (for the objective significance of
life appears to them as pointing upwards) they see no cause for
hurry. They let themselves live, rather than live themselves,
they leave until to-morrow what ought to be done to-day; they
put their trust invariably in time, which achieves everything.
The Christian, on the other hand, who has only got one life
before him, one short period whose exploitation irrevocably
decides whether he will be saved or whether he must roast for
ever, has truly cause to do his utmost with every force at his
disposal to achieve instantly what can be achieved, for in
another second it may be too late. His idea of the course of
the world is horrible, certainly — but how it steels him! How
it crushes all sentimentality! How it stirs the spirits of life!
How it accelerates development! And what pathos it gives to
existence! The whole condensed efficacy of the Westerner,
the whole of his strength of will and character, the whole of
his defiant courage and manly pride, is due to the fact that his
faith has educated him to accepting the greatest responsibility
and to take decisions without hesitation. The European (and
the Moslem too) represents, as opposed to the Indian, a much
more potentialised unity of lifej his tension is greater, his
vitality superior. He owes this fact in large measure to the
belief of his fathers in the last judgment. I am of the opinion
that this belief has done its work, and that it can now give way
to a wiser principle. From now on, Christianity, if it so please,
may become converted to the doctrine of reincarnation, for the
qualities which the old faith called to light are now rooted so
deeply in our heritage that they will continue without external

I52 INDIA

support. Nevertheless, it is improbable that such a change of
ideas will take place without loss. The pathos which depends
upon the conviction of the single and decisive character of
each life is lost.

But even if the teaching of the transmigration of souls has
great possibilities for the future, it is yet to be hoped that it
will never play the part which it does to-day in the conscious-
ness of theosophists. Instead of doing what the Indians do,
namely, recognising the assumed state of affairs and, for the
rest, thinking of something else, they concern themselves con-
tinually with the possibilities of the past and the future. They
study their occult pedigree with a vanity which is often re-
volting} they anticipate with the meanest pettiness their future
lifej and, as far as the occult is concerned, their curiosity
leads them to excesses which, in the realm of manifest phenom-
ena, is rightly regarded as indecent* ... I must think of
Plato, who was also a believer in the transmigration of souls.
How much more befitting was the smiling, gentlemanly man-
ner with which he treated great problems than the earthly
and clumsy method of the theosophist! He said: cOf course
the soul will be born again — but perhaps this is not so? Who
knows? I do not know myself, what I knowj it is probably
only a manner of speech, this theory, or else a charming fairy-
tale which one may or may not believe, according to one's
mood . . .*

WHAT fascinates me most in the atmosphere of Adyar is its
expectation of the Messiah. Among the residents there is a
young Indian of whom it is said that the Holy Ghost will one
day use him as his vessel. The Masters are said to have re-
vealed this. He is to be The Saviour for the coming age. I
have accepted this belief for a few days in order to experience
everything, if possible, which it involves, and I confess that I
was sorry to surrender it, because it is a joy to live under such
a supposition. What an immense background it gives to the
mask insignificant existence! How it increases self -conscious-
ness! What tension and enthusiasm it bestows upon all forces!

CHAP. 19 A D Y A R 153

I am convinced that, if I could only confess this belief with the
whole of my being, I would be ten times more efficient, and,
no matter how little foundation there was for it, I would
approach my inner goal ten times more quickly* For what
does such a belief mean? It makes an ideal objective* The
Saviour, as such, never saves, it is the ideal of the faithful which
he embodies, which does so. Just as the contemplation of the
Cross, or the image of a saint, facilitates and strengthens the
concentration of attention upon the divine, so does the ideal
turned to flesh, only to a higher degree. Every one has experi-
enced this on a small scale. Looking upwards elevates. No
matter whom we have revered and admired, so long as our
reverence was serious, even misunderstanding has made us
progress. It does not matter what the object is in itself which
we revere, but what it means to us. And this explains why
unattainable ideals — unattainable, not only because they are
transcendental, but because their bearers are distant or dead —
have in the long run proved to be the best j their efficacy cannot
be modified by empirical failure. This explains, too, why,
from a religious point of view, it is a matter of such indifference
whether a divine man has ever lived or not Faith in the
religious sense does not mean believing-to-be-true, it means
striving after self-realisation by concentrating the powers of
the mind upon a given ideal* And the incomparable effect of
living divine men (where we can think of them at all) is due to
the fact that they made their own ideal incomparably clear to
their followers, and thus increased its formative^ force to^a
tremendous degree. To this extent the theosophic belief in
the Messiah undoubtedly implies a productive quality. It is
another question what will happen later on. I do not doubt
that the above-mentioned youth, if he lives and no accident
happens to him, will become the founder of a religion} many
others would do the same, subject to equally strong sugges-
tion. But if his calibre should prove to be too small to resist
any criticism, it might have disastrous results. In earlier days,
when saviours were, if not daily, at any rate not very rare guests
on earth, the power of belief was so strong in men that no run-
ning off the rails and no disappointments could do damage to

154 INDIA PART ra

their souls j all the more so, as they were really incapable of
being disappointed — they believed in spite of everything and
through everything. That was their good fortune: belief is an
a priori quality, an independent creative power which justifies
itself by itself. Modern man does not know such faith. His
faith is a tender plant, which may succumb to the slightest
wound, and of all sufferers disappointed man is in the worst
position, because loss of faith really devitalises. Without faith,
full self -consciousness is impossible. Because faith is lacking,
so many people hanker to-day after a new religion j they need
an external focus in order to collect their inner forces into one
unity, for very few have reached by now that degree of inward
independence, which makes them incapable of disappointment
without external assistance. The latest and prof oundest inter-
pretation of Christ's doctrine, which centres in the teaching
that the kingdom of heaven is within us, cannot be traced in
general back to a deeper self-consdousness, but rather to the
recognition of reason which is winning the race with life. And
to this extent the time is not yet past in which religious leaders
can help, even in Europe. But, as has been said already, the
power of belief to-<iay is all too weakj if a specific faith which
has happily reached maturity is destroyed, it may ruin the very
capacity for belief, which would inevitably lead to nihilism
and destruction. I therefore contemplate the fate of the new
world saviour, who, for the rest, may be certain of my sym-
pathy, like anyone else who calls an accelerating motive into
life, not without serious anxiety.

The orthodox theosophists, of course, do not wish to believe
that the empirical fact of a saviour does not belong to what is
essential in him, any more than the Christians doj they seem
to be justified, for doubtlessly it is a matter of import who the
man is to whom one gives one's faith. An enlightened mind
can still illumine dark existences, a genius of love can soften
even hardened hearts, while lesser men are unable to do so,
no matter how strong the faith is which they inspire. This,
however, does not alter anything of the truth of my assertion.
No teacher can give what is not existent in a latent state; he can
only waken that which is asleep, he can liberate what is im-

CHAP.IQ ADYAR 153

prisoned and bring to light what has been concealed. This is
sufficient to secure the rank which men have always given to
him, for it happens all too rarely that an individual becomes
conscious of himself without external assistance* Without
it, latent forces manifest themselves only exceptionally. But
this must never be interpreted in the sense that teachers can
give what we do not already possess j they never give any-
thing, they merely set free that which is in us. And anything
which exists can, in principle, be brought to light in a thousand
ways. Thus men have sought and found themselves in many
ways from the beginning of time. The strongest have suc-
ceeded without external helpj less strong individuals have
needed a little, weak ones a great deal of external assistance j
and correspondingly, there are systems of ascetics, from monu-
mental simplicity downwards to such extreme complexity, and
systems of religion, with or without intermediaries, based upon
authority or on self-determination. Purpose and significance
are always the same all the world over. Since the masses are
never independent, all religions which aspired to being a gospel
for every one have stressed mediation} in modern Hinduism
Sri Krishna, and Amidha-Buddha in northern Buddhism, play
exactly the same part as Jesus does in Christianity. Similar
needs demand similar cures. But it is a superstition to believe
that the saviours as such, as definite human beings, are saviours.
As personalities, they are only releasers of certain qualities.
In most cases, perhaps in all, even this is not true, because
their real effectiveness only began long after their death: they
were effective as the pure embodiment of their ideal* This,
then, brings me bade once more to the advantage of unattain-
able ideals over attainable ones. Schemes which may be ideal-
ised by the imagination without possible contradiction are
much the most reliable. In the East, with its power of faith, a
frail creature, in spite of all his weaknesses, may be honoured
as Avatarj this happened quite recently to Ramakrishna Par-
amahamsa, the ecstatic saint of Dakshineswan But it is very
doubtful whether this could happen among modern Euro-
peans, even among theosophists* Even Ramakrishna was
honoured as a divine man during his lifetime by a very

156 INDIA PART in

small circle, and it is only now, more than thirty years after
his death, that he is beginning to develop into a catholic
saint.

On what depends, ultimately and metaphysically, the desire
to give ourselves up to something higher than ourselves, our
happiness in being allowed to behold the higher Being, and
the tremendous inner progression which it brings with it? —
It depends on the fact that man sees in what is above him a
truer expression of himself than the one which he is able to
present himself. Every one feels only too strongly how imper-
fectly he realises his true being in his appearance. He does
not act in accordance with his self, nor does he think as he
intends to, and he is different from what inwardly he feels
himself to be. There are, in every individual, with rare excep-
tions, such disparent talents that he fails, with the forces at his
disposal, to transfuse them all with his spirit. Thus, beautiful
individuals are generally stupid, great men of action rarely
rich in understanding} thus mentally productive natures are
only exceptionally capable of perfection as human beings.
But every one knows that he is essentially more than what he
can express, and he therefore recognises himself better in
somebody's else perfection than he does in his own imperfect
form. In the same way, we sometimes perceive a truth in-
stantaneously which we would never have found by ourselves,
and we say: *That is really what we meant.' For this reason,
too, we feel marvellously uplifted and enlarged in the presence
of perfect beauty, for our being finds its finally adequate metans
of expression only in perfect shape. In this way, weak men
feel happy in seeing in the great soul of another, their own
natures adequately expressed at last, as it were in a mirror.
Anyone who has ever met a great man has said to himself: CI
always knew him.' Of course he did This, then, is the final
explanation of the immense effect which the mere existence of
such a man radiates. He shows men what every one could be,
what all men are at bottom, in spirit and in truth. And just as
the clear expression of that which our consciousness gropes for
vainly, not only makes^us happy, but also accelerates our prog-
ress, so does the anticipated expression of ourselves winch a

CHAP. 19 A D Y A R 157

great man means to us, help us all to more rapid self-realisa-
tion. This brings us to the root of the recognition that the
mere existence of a saint is more beneficent than all the good
actions of the worldj this explains, moreover, the ultimate
significance of a saviour. He gives an example to mankindj
this is what Christ too intended. And in so doing, he renders
the extremest service which one being can render to another*
He shows men their prof oundest selves in a mirror j he makes
their own ideal dear to them. He embodies it visibly, and thus
gives to the creative forces which impel every one towards
heaven, the longed-for aim and example. Now they know
whither they are to go, now they know the range of their
possibilities. And thus it can happen that the mere existence
of one great man who has personally no purpose in external
life can give a new direction to the lives of all.

AND yet, and yet — does humanity still need a saviour? Can
he still signify to it that which primarily makes a saviour of
him? Is not Ivan KaramazofPs vision of the resurrected Christ
and the grand inquisitor, the final reply to this question? —
Probably not, in so far as up to the present there is no homo-
geneous humanity} the majority of men are still at a stage of
development which leaves them well suited in principle to the
acceptance of a saviour. And such individuals appear still
again and again, not only in the East but also in the midst of
our world, and they find followers readily. So far, none of
them has made a great posthumous career (with the single ex-
ception of Mrs. Baker Eddy, who, however, although she has
accomplished much, will hardly rise to the level of a world
saviour), but the realm of possibilities is incalculablej no
Roman, even during Diocletian's days, would have conceived
it possible that the whole West would one day profess
Christianity. Nevertheless, I feel certain of this much, that the
circles who matter, in so far as they are the bearers of historical
movement, have no use for a new Messiah. And from this it
follows that — unless barbarism overtakes us, as after the col-
lapse of the Roman Empire — no religious founder will, in f u-

158 INDIA PART in

ture, so far as one can see, rise to the position of a world
saviour.

I do not want to refer to the technical difficulties which
impede such a career, the prestige of scientific criticism, the
growing emancipation, the weakening of the power of faith,
and the publicity; these could be overcome. What really takes
away the ground from beneath the feet of a new Messiah is the
increasing tendency of all advanced people to be their own
saviours. It cannot be denied that the spirit of Protestantism
is gaining the victory. It is highly interesting and character-
istic, what is happening to Christ in the course of his most re-
cent development. The historical Jesus is receding into the
background; there is no more talk of objective salvation, and
the whole theodicy of the Middle Ages is ignored. What re-
mains is the inner Christ, whom Jesus was the first man to call
to life within himself, and whom every one is to make supreme
within himself in his own personal way. The man who disre-
gards Christ as an individual will hardly recognise a new sav-
iour. There can be no doubt whatever that the future belongs
to these independent spirits. You may judge the fact as you
will — I personally am anything rather than blind to the disad-
vantages of excessive Protestantism: it is beyond question that
the ^objective spirit* tends irresistibly to a condition in which
the individual, irrespective of all mediation, wishes to decide,
personally and directly, about everything which concerns his
inner nature and fate. This result could have been foreseen
ever since the days of the Reformation; what was begun then
will come to be realised eventually. Until this has happened,
until it has been proved objectively what this new condition
is worth, there is no hope that other tendencies will gain his-
torical significance.

The dreams of the theosophists of a coming saviour of the
world will therefore hardly experience realisation. Their
Messiah might, however, become the saviour of a sect, and that
would be quite sufficient. It would be timely if the idea of
a 'world religion* could be dropped once and for all, just as
all attempts at generalisation in the concrete, the last remnant

CHAP* ig ADYAR 159

of primitive phases of thought, should be abandoned. There
could have been world religions — and there still are some to-
day where humanity is not strongly individualised, and where,
simultaneously, broad but definitely closed communities exist.
But mankind is becoming more and more individualised from
day to dayj men are getting more and more conscious of their
individuality, and take an increasing pride in the personal
element. Thus, the idea of universality in all inner questions
loses importance and power accordingly, and general formulas
prove themselves to be increasingly insufficient. 'Significance*
is revealed to the individual in more and more specialised form,
and this is right, for, as Adele Kamm expresses it, God be-
comes mightier in the process. The Theosophical Society
has attempted to save the idea of universality and make it
serviceable for its own purposes by including all religions
within its own. Far from strengthening it, this weakens theos-
ophy. So wide a basis cannot exist as a monadj it cannot
possibly give an inner form to anyone, which is the real purpose
of religious profession. It is true that theosophy does not wish
to be a profession of faith, but it relaxes this determination
against its will, for it must be one in so far as the movement is
to endure, since it would be powerless as a purely scientific
organisation. If the hoped-for Messiah comes, then a portion
of the Theosophical Society of to-day will no doubt group
itself around him. In the meantime, the followers of Annie
Besant, Catherine Tingley, Rudolph Steiner and several others
are crystallising quietly into separate sects. It is well that it is
so. Only in this form can theosophy hope for a future as a
concrete manifestation. Of course, the leaders of to-day do sot
wish it to be true that the grandiose dream of Madame Blavat-
sky is incapable of permanent realisation. It does not matter
that they cling to this idea, for it gives their wort the quality
of breadth. But sooner or later they will have to recognise
that it is mistaken to strive after catholicity, and they will
eventually be grateful themselves that nature has prevented
them from the execution of their intentions. The Theosophical
Society could not effect and signify nearly as much in the form

i6o INDIA PART m

in which it was conceived, as it can and will signify in its
actual state.

OF course, one does not do justice to theosophy by bringing
its ideas into necessary relation with the expectation of the
Messiah as expressed by its members in Adyar. At the same
time, I fear that I am right in any circumstances in what I said
concerning the improbability of a world mission for theosophy.
It is very well possible that their system corresponds to the
real state of affairs in a higher degree than I am able to per-
ceive j it is very probable that some day its spirit (though
hardly its letter) will be accepted by the majority of men, for
this is already true, in a high degree, under a great number of
different names* Theo- and Anthropo-sophy, New Thought,
Christian Science, the New Gnosis, Vivekananda's Vedantism,
the Neo-Persian and Indo-Islamic Esoterism, not to mention
those of the Hindus and the Buddhists, the Bahai system, the
professed faith of the various spiritualistic and occult circles,
and even the freemasons, all start from essentially the same
basis, and their movements are certain to have a greater future
than official Christianity. This, however, does not secure
theosophy as a living unit* What gives theosophy this position,
and what theosophy is to-day, is not its theoretical structure,
whose bases are accepted by millions who would refuse to be
regarded as theosophists at any price, but it is a particular
attitude, interpretation and practical application of it. To-day
the word theosophy signifies the special profession of a certain
religious order, and I doubt whether a world mission is in
store for it. Theosophy as a religion will continue, it will give
happiness to many individuals, and content to limited sects,
but as a historical movement in life it will never play an im-
portant part I will summarise the most important principles
which are opposed to such a possibility.1

The first objection to theosophy as a living force pertains to
its tendency to occultism. No matter how desirable I consider

rll^IJ^LE*? **** ^^ dk The°s°PM* » ny book PhUosophie als Kmst,
Darmstadt, 1922, is supplementary to what f oUows above.

CHAP, ig ADYAR 161

it that occult forces, in so far as they exist, should be studied
as accurately and fully as possible — the advantage derived
therefrom will benefit science, not religious life* Supernatural
recognition is spiritually no more significant than material
recognition, and 'occult science,' as religion or a way to it,
which is how most theosophists regard it, is not worth a red
cent more than the 'Energism' of Wilhelm Ostwald, More-
over, the possible results of occult research will have far
smaller direct effects upon life than its supporters suspect.
They dream of a condition in which telepathy will supplant
all external means of communication, and Jn which will-power
will render superfluous all physical energy; these dreams rep-
resent so many foolish Utopias. No matter to what extent the
soul can influence physical phenomena, it will be cheaper, and,
to this extent, more to the purpose for centuries, to treat the
body, at any rate in all acute cases, with physical means. For
the conduct of the normal business of life, its normal forces
will not only always be sufficient, but they will always monopo-
lise consideration) or, if not for ever, at any rate so long as
men do not alter their being fundamentally. For the hidden
spheres of reality, which are supposed to come within the
domain of our experience by the education of our psychic
organs, do not concern us herej the less we take notice of
them the better. We have progressed further than the Middle
Ages chiefly because we have lost the belief in mysterious rela-
tionships, which proves that their recognition is not progressive*
This recognition cannot advance us because it means nothing
but a calculation with influences which, if effective at all, are
insignificant compared with the normal forces of this sphere,
and it actually harms us where originally they cannot be ex-
perienced, and everything is sacrificed to bring them within
our ken. The man who makes this his aim inevitably retro-
gresses in his inner being, just as the man who is always think-
ing of his health. He eventually loses all freedom from Was.
We ought to live as straightforwardly as possible, as pluckily,
as smgle-mindedly from within, as unconcerned for every-
thing remote and external, as we can; the more we do this, the
stronger and purer do we become. The less a man relies upon

162 INDIA PART m

alien forces, the more he takes on his own shoulders, the more
does nature smile upon him. The ideal is not to take into
account all circumstances, but to be anchored so firmly in
yourself that all circumstances become indifferent. The
occultist constantly squints sideways, forwards and backwards,
he is never really at his ease* Therefore he can never be a
leader in life, no matter how useful he may prove himself
to be as an instrument. Since the strife for psychic develop-
ment, as already explained, is not beneficial to spiritualisation,
but counteracts it, I will hardly be mistaken in registering the
tendency of theosophy to occultism, on the debit side, from the
point of view of its possible significance for life.

The second consideration which is connected with the above
and which speaks against theosophy, is the externalisation
which the religious impulse inevitably suffers in and by this
process* Let us assume that everything is true which theosophy
teaches concerning the hierarchy of spirits, the gods, half-
gods, masters and the leadership of the human race — it is un-
doubtedly no good to concern oneself too much about it. All
religious belief has only one significance, that of leading to self-
realisation} it means the imaginative exposition of being, the
mirror of the centre of being in our consciousness. Unde-
veloped human beings must believe in something external,
because they have no other means of focusing their powers, of
condensing them to dynamic unity. The developed individ-
ual believes in himself — in *the God in him* — or else he does
not believe at all, he simply is, for, where the consciousness of
being is fully developed, being and belief coincide* The nature
of the externals which a man believes in is irrelevant j but since
they are only a means and not an end, since religious faith and
believing-to-be-true have nothing to do with each other
theoretically, and since no importance is to be attached to the
existence or non-existence of an object of belief and reality,
it is well if this object is as unproven as possible. It is not
necessary to go as far as Tertullian, who proclaimed credo qma
ti&mrdtm, but it is certainly of advantage for religion if the
question of the existence of the gods is raised as little as
possible. la Hinduism this question quite consciously is not

CHAP, ig ADYAR 163

put} there, divinities are regarded officially as manifestations
of the one highest Unity — apart from this, they may be
empirically real or not* The theosophists, however, present the
existence of superhuman beings as scientifically proved by their
leaders. If they believe in God, they incline to externals j they
obey, believe-to-be-true, and pray, in the idolatrous sense, and
all real religiosity suffers. It really makes room for supersti-
tion, because every belief, in that which is not oneself, is
superstition, even if it embody absolute truth m fropria -per-
sona. From this it appears how fatal an error theosophy com-
mits in reawakening ancient polytheism* The theosophists
ought to have drawn the opposite conclusion from their dis-
covery that gods really exist (in so far as they have done so
objectively) if their object has been the founding of a new
religion or giving profundity to those already in existence.
They should have expelled instantly from their Pantheon
every god whose existence they have proved scientifically, as
being henceforth insignificant religiously. No matter , how
many gods or higher beings there may be, no matter how great
their powers — so far as we are spiritual creatures, intent upon
spiritual progress, they do not concern us. And thus New
Thought — this word not taken as the denomination of the sect,
but as the tenor of all spiritual movements which are originally
derived from American New Thought— has undoubtedly de-
veloped the teachings of ancient mysticism in a happier sense
than Theosophy. New Thought recognises in all mediation
only preliminary stagesj it rejects all occult knowledgej it
denies living value to occult development and to the struggle
beyond that which fetters us to this earth, and it stresses solely
individual self-realisation in this life. This is, in fact, the only
thing we need. No matter how much scientific recognition may
gain — the newly awakened interest in occultism signifies, for
the religious life of our time, a direct danger, probably the
most serious of all, for it threatens to bring about an externali-
sation which may become much more fatal (because more diffi-
cult to oppose) than any which are conditioned by materialism*
A proven God, honoured henceforth as a fact, would be a more
evil fetish than the golden calf. The more we discover of the

164 INDIA PART m

hidden forces of nature, the more important does it become
to understand that self -realisation alone matters j that it is
spiritually quite irrelevant7 not only whether we are clairvoyant
or blind, but also whether there are gods or not. To-day it is
more important than ever to take to heart what Buddha and
Christ have said against the workers of miracles: both have
emphasised repeatedly that we are not concerned with psychic
development, but with something else belonging to a different
dimension. All squinting at the supernatural is derogatory.
Only those free from bias can advance- And the theosophists
are not only not free from bias — it is, as already stated, im-
possible for them to be so. They are encouraged far too much
by their leaders to consider how they can please their Masters,
how occult forces are to be dealt with correctly, and how evil
influences can be escaped. For this reason, the average theoso-
phist, no matter how much nearer he may be to truth, is
generally spiritually below a devout Christian* I see in New
Thought, especially in the shape which Adela Curtis1 has
given to it, really the only religious movement of our time
based on mysticism which will prove advantageous to the ma-
jority. In this attempt alone there is an intelligent as well
as a methodical effort towards inwardness and spiritualisationj
in it alone the essentials are recognised; in it alone, as far as
I know, there are no psychological mistakes. The movement
emanating from Johannes Muller, the Lutheran equivalent of
New Thought, is no doubt superior to the latter in philosophi-
cal insight, but it lacks accelerating motives, on which alone
everything depends if spiritual progress is to be initiated j it
does not point a way directly how recognition is to be translated
into life. New Thought, from the point of view of the West,
has a further advantage over theosophy, an advantage of an
empirical and accidental nature, but for this very reason it is
likely to cast^the derisive vote in favour of its success in the
world: k signifies a logically possible evolution of Christianity,
and is inspired by it5 although based upon the wisdom of the

far,<k^ils te/ writings, The New Mysticism, Meditation and Health,
Way of Sfence (published by the School of Silence, 10 Scarsdak Villas,
Keostagtoo, Loodoo, W*)«

CHAP. 19 ADYAR 165

East, it is purely Christian in spirit, and does not employ any,
or hardly any, alien concepts. Self-realisation is possible only
within the limits of familiar concepts; it is impossible to express
oneself perfectly in a foreign language, quite apart from the
drawback that in the latter case one has to pay too much atten-
tion to the means. (For this reason, neither Buddha nor
Christ wished to destroy, but only to 'fulfil' the existing law.)
The Indian concepts are alien to us Westerners; most people
are incapable — it is just the theosophists who prove this — of
acquiring an inner relation to them. Moreover, physiologically
we are all Christians, whether our consciousness recognises
this or not. Thus, every doctrine which continues in the Chris-
tian spirit has a better chance of taking hold of our innermost
being than the prof oundest doctrine of foreign origin. Per-
sonally, I do not believe that Christianity will ever die out It
will continue to exist in the West, in ever new interpretations
and incarnations, until the Last Judgment. Nor do I believe
in the necessity, and hardly in the possibility, of a new religion.
We have in principle got beyond the stage in which we can
seriously accept metaphysical forms, and this will appear as
soon as a new form shall rule supreme. The best among us
are no longer capable of conversion* On the other hand, most
of us, and especially the most far-sighted, will continue to be
ready to use the traditional mental images as means of ex-
pression, because they f adlitate self-realisation. The loud cry
of our day for a new religion is hardly to be taken seriously;
it corresponds generally with a lack of self-recognition. The
most advanced will know how to help themselves more and
more without professions of faith, and those who feel the need
for it will, as before, find, in the old profession, their best
medium. Those who demand new forms of belief most noisily
are, as far as I can judge, intrinsically a-religious* When they
have become more mature, even they will recognise that they
are not concerned for a new faith, but for a new formation of
being; that such a struggle does not necessarily mean religious
strife, and that they will find themselves much more rapidly
if they make up their minds to try to express their being in
the world of appearance without any side-glances upon God.

166 INDIA PART m

Much too much is called religion nowadays} anyone who
wishes to gain personal importance imagines that, for this
reason, he evinces religious feeling. The only struggle for
self-realisation which can be called religious aims at the spir-
itual transfusion of appearance. The man who only wishes
to spend his energy to create is simply a strong man, an organ-
iser, possibly a poet, but nothing essentially different and noth-
ing more.

The third, probably the most important, consideration which
is opposed to a possible world mission for theosophy in the
West is its adhesion to ideals which, from a historical point of
view, have ceased to operate. The new saviour is blessed as
the 'Lord of Mercy* j the virtues of humility, obedience,
readiness to serve, compassion and gentle love, are presented
as the supreme virtues. They are perhaps the supreme femi-
nine virtues, but a historical future awaits masculine virtues only
for some time to come. We are already on the point of over-
coming compassion, the fatal superstition that making others
happy is in itself meritorious, that altruism possesses value in
itself, that being attached is a sign of spirituality, and long-
suffering is better than the determination to change circum-
stances— we are on the point of supplanting these ideas by the
general recognition that only productive effort is ethically justi-
fied: that causing others suffering is better than suffering with
others, in so far as the former leads upwards, that non-con-
sideration of the feelings of others is better than considera-
tion of them so far as the former are foolish, and so on. And
this is not due to lack of f eeHng, but because we begin to grow
beyond the stage of being conditioned by emotional circum-
stances, because we are ceasing to identify ourselves with our
empirical nature, and only recognise, as absolutely valuable,
not what satisfies a given individual, but that which helps him
beyond himself irrespective of the pain it costs him. This is
the masculine, productive form of humanity, in contradistinc-
tion to the feminine, conserving ideals which theosophy
represents in their extreme form. Masculine and feminine
qualities, however, cannot actualise themselves at once. West-
era humanity has confessed officially its adherence to feminine

CHAP. 19 A D Y A R 167

ideals for nearly two thousand years, and this was excellent,
for it has been tamed more or less only thanks to this educa-
tion in woman's domain. We Northerners owe our present
moral level of civilisation perhaps more to the mediaeval wor-
ship of the Virgin Mary than to anything else — to this wonder-
fully poetic variety of Christianity which has grafted the
Mother of God as a divinity upon itself. In those days she was
not revered as the principle of motherhood, nor as the per-
sonification of the eternal feminine, but as a queen, as a great
lady, as a Grande Damey who did not permit any fault or
offence against court manners. Especially in the thirteenth
century, the feminine ideals dominated so completely that any-
one familiar with its ideas and not its actions would have
every reason for regarding it as a period of effeminacy. In
those days Western humanity had, in unconscious self -recog-
nition, fashioned for itself the kind of outlook on the world
which was best calculated to ennoble it. To-day it has recog-
nised its real character like Achilles when Odysseus looked for
him among the girls, and it would be dishonest if it continued
to think in a feminine way; and it will now find its perfection
all the more rapidly, the more it makes up its mind to keep to
the masculine way.

And thus, by projection upon the background of theosophy,
the significance of our Western peculiarity and the fate of our
hemisphere become clearer to me than they ever did before.
Our capacity for progress depends on the fact that in us for the
first time in human history the masculine principle in all its
purity has attained sole control. Since we are progressive, it
cannot be but that we become more and more masters of this
world: where tradition and progress are rivals, the latter must
gain the victory, because its principle is superior to empirical
accident. In idea, the historical pre-eminence of Roman Ca-
tholicism was vanquished the minute the naked spirit of Protes-
tantism was born. Henceforth, this spirit alone will guide
events, no matter in what form, either towards good or evil.
It is useless to oppose this fate. The completest recognition of
the disadvantages which it conditions will not alter it. The idea
of absolute autonomy created a power in the world which is

168 INDIA PART m

mightier than anything which is opposed to it, and which
will be effective in spite of all obstacles. If it does not enthrone
the theosophical ideal of subordination (to omniscient Masters)
it will prevent its further effectiveness, as it has already put
an end to Catholic efficacy. (It is significant that most of the
leading spirits in all Catholic countries are fanatically anti-
clerical.) We Westerners are the bearers of this power. We
must confess ourselves to its sway. We must recognise that
we are essentially men, and that we only wish to be essentially
men. All the modern Western apostles with feminine, senti-
mental ideals strike one as indescribably poor creatures (if they
are not women themselves) and this could not be otherwise:
in so far as they feel in a feminine way they are inferior types.
Everything good which has lately emanated from the West
bears the mark of masculine spirit. In this spirit, and in it
alone, we will in future achieve greatness and goodness.

In pointing to the feminine character of theosophy, as opposed
to the pronouncedly masculine nature of all the spiritual forces
which are the bearers of the modern historical movement, the
centre of the problem has been touched upon, as to what the
wisdom of the East can and cannot signify for the West. It is
a fundamental error to suppose that Theosophy can play a
historical part among us: it contains no accelerating motive.
It preaches a receptive and expectant attitude towards the
higher forces, who in their omniscience direct the fate of
humanity, and where the latter has determined upon independ-
ent action, events are trampled down regardless of all expec-
tations. The spirit of the West is becoming more masculine,
more manly, from epoch to epoch. The Westerner recognises
less and less unalterable f actors j he accepts voluntarily more
and more responsibility, and the idea of predestination loses
truth correspondingly from period to period. Theosophy
rejects all new creation: the whole future is said to be pre-
destined, from eternity j every new manifestation is supposed to
be conditioned by previous karma; all events are controlled
aoxHtling to a preconceived plan. The spirit of the West, on
the contrary, assumes more and more that no plan binds the
creative will, and that every free act implies a new creation*

CHAP, ig ADYAR 169

Both these views do not perhaps seem to contradict each other,
regarded from the Atman point o£ viewj perhaps they only
represent different aspects of the relation existing in the abso-
lute, and mean the same thing. But in the realm of appear-
ances, and for our ideas, they signify the most radical differ-
ence which can be conceived: in our world, Providence has
literally abdicated in favour of the individual with free powers
of determination. Myths frequently offer a more truthful
presentation of reality than scientific statements: thus, one can
say that God interferes personally always only there where He
has no choice, because no one else wishes to take the responsi-
bility, and now that the Western world has become so enam-
oured of responsibility, He has retired from business alto-
gether. Now man acts as God, with the same supreme right,
and the trend of events proves that this position has not been
usurped illegitimately* There, where man has become sover-
eign, the ideals born of the spirit of dependence lose increas-
ingly in importance and power. A sovereign longs neither for
peace nor mercy, neither for comfort nor compassion, for he
decides j if he succumbs, he recognises himself alone as guilty
and bears the consequences with calm pride. This is the manly
way. Women expect, suffer, hope and receive. Accordingly
they long for compassion, mercy and peace. For this reason
they are right in believing in the superior power of Fate.
But a man need not trouble about God or Devil, because his
initiative removes him beyond their power. Where one of two
individuals has initiative and the other lades it, the latter will
inevitably fall behind in the race. For this reason, all the
feminine forms of religion are played out as historically effec-
tive factors ever since the masculine spirit awoke.

This is the ultimate and basic reason for the greater efficacy
of the West as opposed to the East. The Western spirit now
marches forward irresistibly along its path and becomes more
self-conscious from day to day. It avows its belief in manliness
more decidedly all the time. It took long before this spirit
dared to deny the traditional feminine ideals. For a short
period it created a form for itself in which this spirit could
quite honestly be itself, and simultaneously bow down honestly

170 INDIA PART in

before these feminine ideals: this was the time of the worship
of the Virgin and of the minstrel singers. This form, how-
ever, lost its soul ere long. For centuries the Western spirit
dragged convictions along with it which were in crying contrast
to its intimate desires as well as to its activities. Even to-day
perhaps there are not many who confess to themselves that they
do not care for peace, nor for release from this vale of tears;
that they do not see the highest qualities in compassion and
love, and value determined action higher than accepting and
suffering in all circumstances. But it is so in truth} and the
Westerner is becoming more and more conscious of his actual
being—often only after cramp-like crises. The most severe
cramp was expressed in Friedrich Nietzsche. It may be that he
was the last; that development will henceforward take^ its
course without retrogression. But it is not certain. Every time
that I survey the inner fermentation of our time, I am sur-
prised how little clarity men possess concerning their real being
and volition. They fumble after new concepts of faith and
new forms of it, and they clamour far and near after new
ideals. The truth is that they themselves, as personally active
individuals, have stepped into the shoes of all possible
ideals: that the time of external exponents is over, that the foci
of the ellipsis are beginning to melt into the centre of a circle,
that faith and being are becoming one, and that the hour has
come to take self-determination absolutely in earnest. If un-
consciously we were not already self-determined, we would
not seek for our ideals outside us in vain. For the time being
we are, as Hegel would say, in a state of ^unhappy conscious-
ness/ But if we take veracity and the courage of decision and
responsibility quite seriously, then, sooner or later, this condi-
tion will give way of its own accord to a 'happier* state. When
this has happened, it will appear that we will not have to deny
any of the old ideals, as Nietzsche has suspected, but that, on
the contrary, we will be much more capable than previously
of doing justice to them, There are many equivalents for
feminine sympathy, feminine love and compassion. Therefore,
tliere is no fear that our culture will suffer by a conscious change
of direction towards the masculine.

CHAP, ig ADYAR 171

But of course, the men who make history, who alone are
in question as far as its courses are concerned, are only a por-
tion of humanity. It is a mistake to believe that, because the
trend of the time is toward increasing masculinity, the feminine
element therefore is dying out: this is proved sufficiently
clearly by the immense attraction exercised by the religions of
the East among us. Many are drawn to them as men are to
women} and yet I think that most of them are only attracted as
one woman is to another who is possessed of understanding.
The more masculine the spirit of the age becomes on the one
hand, the more conscious becomes the feminine portion of
humanity of its mental characteristics. And it is well that it is
so. For thus it becomes more profound in the feminine
direction. The feminine disposition is more favourable to un-
derstandingj it is the more profound one in the real sense of
the word. The work of understanding mil be done best by
feminine humanity until the Last Judgment. Our struggle for
recognition, which stands alone in history, is not due to the
fact that we are by nature wise, but that we are unwise j where
knowledge exists already, science does not flourishj we long for
light from the blindness of men of action. For this reason it
is, in spite of everything, a welcome sign that the spirit of
theosophy is penetrating into ever wider circles in the West.
Such a process will benefit recognition to the full: as a theoretic
teaching of Being, Indian wisdom, whose doctrines are repre-
sented by theosophy no matter how much they may be mis-
interpreted, is beyond the opposition of man and woman; it
signifies unquestionably the maximum of metaphysical recog-
nition which has been attained hitherto, and the West w3l
realise this more and more as it advances j what I have described
as feminine in it is not this wisdom by "itself, but it is the
conclusions which Indians and theosophists draw from it for
their practical lives. They are conclusions which men cannot
make their own, nor do they need to do so. They are not
necessary or binding. But women may recognise them. All
the more so as there is little danger that feminine ideals will
ever again gain predominance among us*

. . . Man and Woman. . . . Perhaps it is well if I take this

172 INDIA PART m

opportunity to pronounce the ultimate facts of their relation-
ship. We must not linger with the concept of their opposition:
as soon as we do so, its truth melts like a cloud — just as prob-
ably all thoughts appear true only from a certain distance and
within a limited time.

It seems as if the polarity of the sexes were something abso-
lutely real. Regarded more closely and more profoundly, its
presupposed meaning, and even the facts, do not hold water.
It will not do to see absolute phenomena in the polar co-ordi-
nates as has been the case from Empedocles downward to
Schelling and beyond him. What in fact defines the funda-
mental peculiarity of the feminine as opposed to the masculine?
That the former can create only after previous conception. But
if this is so, then not only all artists are women, all thinkers
and philosophers (in so far as they need stimulus), but even the
manliest of men, the genii of action. For even their life work
has always consisted in giving living form to an idea which
they had received. It must not be objected that they did not
receive, but created, ideas: firstly, this was only very rarely the
case, for nearly^ all historically great individuals were the
bearers of pre-existent tendencies, and then it was not a ques-
tion of creation, where the idea really was their own, but it was
rather a case of parthenogenesis, for masculine semen, as such,
possesses no evolutionary tendency. God could conceivably be
thought of as purely masculine, in so far as He created without
previous conception. But He is beyond the sexual opposition,
and if we attempt to comprehend His creation we are forced, if
we refuse at all costs to grant Him feminine peculiarities, to
credit matter with pre-existence as well as all the powers of
maternity.

^ As a matter of fact, sexual polarity is nothing absolute, it
signifies a formal scheme within which creative activity moves.
We call the varying principle masculine, and the preserving one
femininej the stimulating principle is male, the formative
female: it js masculine to act, feminine to possess receptive
understanding* Man fashions the appearance, woman em-
bodies the cause. These poles become apparent in the most
varying manner, and every individuality contains both in many

CHAP. 20 ELLORA 173

aspects. Every human being is a synthesis of masculinity and
femininity, and can, according to circumstances, appear as male
1 or female. This is not as true as in the case of echinoderms,
in whose case the masculine principle can be substituted by
chemicals, or in the case of Copepoda and Daphnia, who
alter their sex according to the changes of the weatherj the
power of transmutation appears here, as everywhere in the
case of human beings, limited to the psychic sphere. In this
realm, however, it manifests itself all the more dearly. As an
artist, as a creator and as a creature of understanding, the most
masculine man is feminine. We are concerned, therefore,
whenever in the history of the world, as to-day, a principle
appears to be gaining supremacy, with something less extreme
than we imagine: no matter how masculine our culture has
become, the voice of the eternal feminine will remain, audible
within its sphere.

20
ELLORA

mere fact of being transported from the damp and
i sweltering flat country of Southern India into the dear
heights of the mountains calls forth sensations of happiness
within me. But here there are marvels to be seen which stimu-
late me wonderfully. Moods which belong to the days of my
youth re-echo in the rocky temples of Ellora. Once again I
probe into the dead stone as a geologist, in order to solve the
significance of the living.

How eloquent these petrifacts are!— No living spirit of
religiosity breathes in the holy caves of EUonu The echo^of
the last reverberation, caused once upon a time by divine
worship here, has long since died away, and only at rare and
long intervals do pilgrims enter the precincts, They serve as
a refuge for the shepherd against storms or the glow of the
ravaging sun, or occasionally as a caravanserai. And some-
times the Mohammedan inhabitants of the neighbourhood hold
their sheep markets here.— But that which is dead continues to

174 INDIA PART m

live in the stone. The spirit of Faith which hollowed out these
mountains, which chiselled cathedrals out of the rock, has
found an immortal body in its creation. And the monumental
simplicity which it assumed in the depth of the mountains
manifests the deepest traits of its nature with incomparable
strength.

Three great religions have carved their spirit side by side
into the rock: Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism, the stern
sister of the religion of Buddha. The Brahmanic sculptures
express the spirit of the Mahabharatam, that mighty epopee
of Hindustan. The same amazing power, the same unlimited
wealth of invention, the same creative force of divine luxuriance
springs from them. Just as God has intertwined into one
necessary Unity the wise and the beautiful and the ugly, the
heavenly and the devilish in His creation, so the monstrous
and the exquisite, the repulsive and the attractive, the signifi-
cant and the nonsensical, the grotesque and the sublime, stand
side by side, conditioning each other in the Brahmanic world
of form. This creation is so all-embracing that what is missing
would seem only to be withheld, and it appears to be rooted
so deeply in being that the observer admires and reveres, even
when he does not understand, knowing well that he is faced by
something beyond his means of comprehension. — And by its
side the spirit of the Protestant faith, Jainism and Buddhism!
How scanty, how poor they seem! The original power may
still be discerned in its Jainistic formation. You feel: here
luxuriant spirit has meant to condense itself into simplicity,
as the god Shiva, the Dancer, occasionally concentrates him-
self into an ascetic Thus poverty still expresses restrained
riches, and the simple lines breathe power. But how infinitely
less strength they show than those of Brahmanic creation! It
is not possible to compress a whole world within the narrow
confines of a province. Jainism only signifies a twig, albeit a
powerful one, on the gigantic tree of Hinduism. — But now,
as to Buddhism! As I stepped from the Temple of Kailas,
the cathedral which has been chiselled in all its amazing com-
plexity out of a single rock, into the bare caves which serve the
son of Sakya as a sanctuary, I began to shudder. Where has

CHAP.2O EL LOR A 175

the spirit fled to? I only succeeded by the utmost straining of
my attention in realising the connection of this world with what
I had seen before, and in perceiving that it too had its root in
the original Indian spirit But how weary, how diseased is he
presented here, in this extreme embodiment! To-day I under-
stand for the first time why Buddhism, which was able to
conquer the world, could not support itself in India, why all
Indians whom I have seen speak contemptuously of Buddhism.
To-day for the first time it is clear to me why Gautama, this
uniquely great man, this greatest son of the land of India, who
was destined to be revered in it as no one else was, did not bring
salvation to his people, and is therefore valued less than many
lesser men: no matter how great Buddhism may be in itself, it
signifies the degeneration of the Indian spirit.

It cannot be denied: in Buddhism the philosophical nation
far excellence has renounced the tendency to philosophise, the
people who delighted most on earth in created forms have
capitulated before the ideal of uniformity, the most speculative
race who ever existed has sought salvation in empiricism. This
could not lead to a good end. Nature refuses to be mocked, to
be violated} if she is impeded in good works, she bursts forth
all the more as a destructive power. The Indians cannot
refrain from philosophising: thus the renunciation of philoso-
phy only brought about that Buddhism became the collective
centre for the mental forces all over India which tended to
nihilism, superficial scepticism or gross materialism, and these
have continuously disintegrated the Buddhistic community from
the core to the surface. The Indians cannot all be woven on
the same loom. If this is done, they are robbed of the best that
is in themj Buddhism has banalised them. The Indians are
rich in imagination rather than exact: if they adhere to an out-
look on the world based on pure experience, it could only have
the result that the creative activity, leading to the forma-
tion of myths, should work itself out terre a terre and descend
from the sphere of the spirit, which is its place^ reeking
mischief, down into that of matter. Buddha based his theory
of recognition on the phenomenon of suffering, and on this he
built his doctrine of salvation: no matter how well such a

176 INDIA PART in

philosophy may justify itself among empiricists, it spoils specu-
lative minds, for they will not be prevented from raising suffer-
ing into substance. The psychology of Buddha is the most
exact which I know: in the minds of Indians it has developed
into a phantasmagoria, as they were not able to escape their
natural tendency to interpreting it as a metaphysical theory of
being, Buddha's moral rules are of wonderful efficacy where
they are followed simply and not pondered over as revelations j
if this is done, which is what happened from the beginning
with the Indians, then only their unphilosophic spirit appears
and deteriorates the thinking and the moral struggle of those
who wish to understand them too profoundly. Thus Bud-
dhism proves itself to be a thoroughly abnormal and harmful
growth on the tree of the Indian spirit, and the happiest acci-
dent which could fall to the lot of this spirit was to survive his
illness. Only a few centuries after the time when Buddhistic
kings had raised it by artificial means to its greatest power,
original Buddhism had disappeared from India. What was
afterwards still called Buddhism in India is really Brah-
manism, with all its typical anti-Buddhist traitsj its speculative
spirit, its ritualism, its metaphysical profundity and the mani-
foldness of its outer appearance. But even this Brahmanised
Buddhism survived only on the borders of Hindustan. The
rest of the country was regained by Hinduism. Hinduism
alone is the real and all-embradng expression of Indian
religiosity, doing justice to all its contents and worth} and
this is what the cave-temples of Ellora reveal in their grand
monumental script

The nature of the tie which links religion to the character of
a race has never been so clear to me as to-day. It is simply im-
possible to form a valid judgment concerning the value of a
concrete religion if the peculiarity of the soul which is to pro-
fess it is not taken into consideration. The spiritual force of a
faith is conceived as so great by most that all other factors,
such as race, national characteristics, the original spirit of the
people, may be regarded as irrelevant compared with it The
example of India teaches that such a view is incorrect* Bud-
dhism is a wonderful religion, in many ways the highest which

CHAP.20 ELLORA 177

exists j India has not gained by its profession: it was incapable
of advancing the Indians. In the same way, the profession of
the Indian view of life, however unequalled it be in prof undity,
will never suit the unphilosophical Occidentals, for whom
Christianity signifies the most appropriate religion. All indig-
enous religions have an absolute advantage over imported
ones, because they correspond with the national character, and
to this extent they represent a medium in which the best and
most ideal elements can be expressed intelligently. Of course,
the concept indigenous' must not be taken in the absolute
sense; it would be better to say domiciled,* for what has been
domiciled for a long period proves thereby either its original
or its ultimate appropriateness, because what is inappropriate
dies out. Will the triumphal progress of Christianity and
Buddhism be held up against me as proof to the contrary? ^ It
is just they which, within certain limits, bear witness to the exist-
ence of a necessary link between the character of a people and
its profession of faith. Originally, of course, Christianity had
nothing to do with the spirit of European peoples; but it
became changed to suit their spirit with extraordinary rapidity.
Even in the early Middle Ages, the original Eastern spirit of
real (not official) Christianity had hardly left any traces in the
West; and it became more and more Westernised in every
further development. Even the schism between East and West
was essentially due to differences in national spirit $ the latter
factor became absolutely dominant in the territorial division
between Protestantism and Catholicism. The more Teutonic
blood, the more pronounced was the Protestant sentiment—
And now as to Buddhism. It did not last in India because it
did not correspond to the national character. In ite original
form it has preserved itself only in the tropical zone, in Ceylon,
Burma and Siam, where the teaching of Sakya Munis, under-
stood quite literally, supplied the best possible frame of life to
an indolent humanity. Among the Northern barbarians Bud-
dhism developed into pure idol-worship. Brahmanic Bud-
dhism (Mahayana doctrine) did in fact conquer China, but it
never became a formative power, because its all too speculative
nature remained alien to the realistic spirit of the Chinesej it

only signified a great deal to artists, and gradually disappeared
as a force. Nominally the same Buddhism rules to-day in
Japan. But what form has it assumed there? There it re-
sembles Christianity far more than Brahmanism, because the
practical, worldly sense of the Japanese people has adapted the
foreign teaching to its own requirements. — No, it is impossible
to disregard the national character in judging a religion. The
only teaching which appears to have proved itself stronger than
any other droimstances, is that of Islam. Why this exception?
I do not know. I suspect, however, that it is not really an ex-
ception, for in Persia, the only Islamic country possessing a
mentally active population, the original tendency of the race
continues to assert itself in the shape of Sufism and Bahaism.

UDAIPUR

AT the beginning of the performance of a play at the court
of princes in India in the Middle Ages, the leader used to
step out upon the bare boards and relate to his audience what
he saw about him in his mind's eyej his words then called to
life corresponding images in their consciousness, and they
served as decorations and wings. The public was credited with
so much imagination that it was capable of retaining in its
mind imaginary surroundings as an ever-present frame of
reality. — Udaipur seems to me to have been created by similar
evocations, to be real in the same sense. Udaipur seems so
improbable in its beauty that I stand in the midst of it, look at
it and enjoy it as if in a dream — and yet I can scarcely credit
my experience.

The royal castle stands out in the background with a magnifi-
cence and grandeur worthy of gods. The people throng the
town which slopes upwards on terraces. Proud horsemen
gallop along, femininely beautiful lads jokingly lean against
the armourer's smithy, and again and again the dark mass of
an elephant divides the shimmering turmoil of men. In the
gardens, where rare flowers blossom and marble fountains

CHAP.2I UDAIPUR 179

spread refreshing coolness in the hottest part of the day,
legendary birds flit about, beautiful as jewels, The lake in
which Udaipur is mirrored is peopled by ibises, spoon-bills
and marabouts, who are on friendly terms with men; on the
shores hinds and gazelles step confidently to meet those bent
on pleasure. The islands are decorated with exquisite pavilions
which invite to secret joys. Golden gondolas, from which song
and the tinkling of cymbals emanate, glide through the waters.
And when evening falls, when the sun has died away on the
marble of the palaces and the lake has changed from scarlet
into purple and then into invisibility, silver bells ring this
fairy city to rest.

Here I could only rest, only enjoy, only love and abide in
happiness j here it would be ridiculous to want to live other-
wise. Such probably was the atmosphere of an Indian Cow
dy Amour. Hitherto I have found difficulty in imagining for
myself the amorous life of Indian courts as it presents itself
in the poetry of their Middle Ages. Their love seemed so
unreal in its passive longing, its extravagance without power,
its unrest in the midst of security. This *unreaP something
was the reality of this improbable world; here an over-
developed culture has stepped beyond the frame of nature.
Love, as a real art, has never been known in the West. What
is described there as *the art of love' Is not art, but diplomacy.
The latter was not necessary at the Indian courts of love, for
there the purpose was achieved from the beginning; there one
possessed for a start what one desired, and inducement and
opportunity were lacking which could engender longing^ for the
unknown. Such contentment usually blunts the faculties. In
these circles of the most refined sensuous culture,, however,
where beauty was supreme as an end in itself, it transfigured
love to a real art, of a piece with music and poetry. All
dramatic elements belonged to the realm of imagination in
such love. Imagination had to produce legend and action from
itself, suffering as well as obstacles, anxiety and hope; for all
real background was lacking; here feelings were awakened and
intertwined, as the musician improvises on the lute. And this
marvel was possible, became real, because the men of that won-

i8o INDIA PART ui

derful period were miraculously refined from the surface to
their inmost depth.

This culture belongs to days which are past long ago. But,
as I walked through the glittering chambers, the pavilions and
the swaying gardens, which once upon a time provided its
scenery, I became conscious of its spirit, and bitter longing soon
filled my heart. How sadly modern society lacks all artistic
value! Not that it lacks erotic background — eroticism must be
the neutral canvas, the structural web upon which imagination
and taste weave pleasing patterns j and these patterns are to-day,
where they exist, threadbare and bad. In northern countries
they were never good. There it happens too rarely that a
man is brought up and formed by women j without training,
his erotic faculties do not develop and as woman only excep-
tionally satisfies higher demands than man makes upon her
directly, no progress takes place. Germanic men know, in
matters of love, generally only two things: vice and marriage.
Both are equally bad means to erotic culture. Both en-
courage laxityj both devitalise. Erotic tension, which must
never cease if man is to remain at a high level as a sensuous
creature, can only be developed and heightened by the kind of
intercourse which makes realisation always possible theoretically
and always questionable in practice, and such intercourse is
offered neither by wives nor prostitutes. In the East to-day,
and in the West during the period of classic antiquity, the
corresponding feminine type was only to be found amongst
courtesans. From the Renaissance onwards this type has
separated itself more and more into a definite caste, and since
the eighteenth century it coincides with the ideal type of the
lady of the great world. The ancient courtesan and the modem
Grande Dame are in reality of one spirit, of one being} only
the latter stands on a higher level because she is more universal.
What do men not owe to intercourse with such women! And
how easily one detects it if her exquisite hands have helped to
form him! The greater chahn (as well physically as mentally
and emotionally) which the cultivated Latin evinces as opposed
to the Teuton, is chiefly due to the fact that the former, in
contrast to the latter, has generally partaken of such education.

CHAP,2i UDAIPUR 181

It is madness, almost a crime against the Holy Ghost, to ban
eroticism from life, as the Puritanism of all countries and all
times has done: it signifies in reality the fulcrum of human
nature. Through the Eros every string of his being can be set
in motion, and the deepest reverberations have generally
emanated from it. The woman, of course, must understand
her metier. She must know how to treat Eros as the canvas,
and how to let the threads shoot backwards and forwards until
an exquisite pattern has been createdj she must know how to
force the man to embroider, to invent continually new
arabesques and ever more delicate shades and tones. And if
she is cultured to perfection, she would even succeed in trans-
forming the diplomat into an artist, in changing the brutality
of desire to the longing for beauty. This is what the great
ladies of the great periods of Latin culture have done 5 hence
the existence of this very culture. To-day, on the other hand,
the feeling for embroidery has passed away, even in France.
Desire, which, after all, is a matter of course, is stressed, un-
derlined and exaggerated again and again} men, instead of
becoming brilliant in the presence of women, become coarse.
This is inevitable because the women themselves take less and
less delight in embroidery, and prefer the naked canvas to
the carpet. — How different was all this in medieval India!
Here every charm of uncertainty was lackingj the men
possessed the women whom they wooed. The external cir-
cumstances were no more favourable to mobility than those of
marriage. But just as every now and again there are husbands
whose imagination overcomes inertia, so the wonderful men of
this period understood how to create, without external means,
quite from within themselves, the same erotic culture which
prevailed during the best times of Italy and France.

Will anyone be offended because I ascribe the great courtesan
and the Grande Dame to an identical type? — I cannot alter the
facts. It simply is so, that only women of polygamous tend-
encies, possessing a wide emotional horizon, women with
varied sympathies and many-sided characters, are destined to
the position of the queen, of the muse and the sibyL The
virtues of the housewife preclude a wide and grand scale of

182 INDIA PART m

effectiveness; the woman who aspires to this scale thereby
proves that she is not a type of motherhood. It should be
recognised at last that 'moral7 qualities cannot possibly produce
a general denominator for the ideal aspirations of mankind}
that some of the highest irreplaceable values are capable^ of
realisation only in opposition to the main lines of morality.
One of the few ladies of the great world who to-day approach
the type of an Aspasia, asked me once whether I regarded
her as unfaithful? Certainly not, I replied to her, for in her
case the question of faithfulness did notarise. ^ In order to
convey to many the extraordinary qualities which she alone
could express in her circle, she had to sacrifice the individual
in a certain sense, and she would have sinned sadly if she had
sacrificed her highest abilities to moral scruples. It should be
recognised at last that no general denominator is conceivable for
the ideal aspirations of mankind, unless so abstract a concept
should be chosen that it could embody every possible con-
tent. Thus, all aspirations can be traced to the strife for per-
fection, for this is in fact the significance of all of them. But
who does not realise that there are countless forms of possible
perfection, and that therefore the apparent unification only
means a new version of the problem? As a matter of fact, one
kind of perfection can only flourish at the expense of another.
The miracles of Greek art would have been uncreated without
the disregard and violation of the lowly; the highest culture
is possible only in an aristocratic community which, as such, is
exclusive. ^Esthetic perfection belongs to another dimension
than moral perfection, and is not rarely at right angles to it;
the ideal of democracy is inimical to culture, that of all-embrac-
ing love excludes the manly virtues, and so on. Now the asser-
tion can be made — and this has been done often — that all other
ideals are inessential by the side of that of moral goodness j
but even subject to this simplified presupposition, an all-em-
bracing concrete ideal is inconceivable; I mean a condition
which would bring to perfection everything morally good in
mankind* This is obvious in the case of the most superficial
realisation of the moral ideal, in the form of ubiquitous prac-
tical love of men, for in these circumstances the individual

CHAP.2I UDAIPUR 183

withers ethically; precisely because he acts continually for
others, he does not gain profundity for himself j this embodi-
ment has therefore never satisfied any profound human being.
But even the highest forms are manifestations no less limited,
and could only achieve good at the expense of other possi-
bilities. The monk must kill the profoundly ethical family
impulses, renounce friendship, and be indifferent to earthly
perfection; in the case, however, of the asceticism within the
world, whose idea was created by Protestantism from the
recognition of the limitation of the monastic ideal, that inner
freedom is never produced which constitutes the loftiest aim
of religious progress. It simply is not possible to conceive
of a definite state or form which could give perfect expression
to everything which is good in mankind, and it is still less
possible to imagine a form which would include within itself
all that we call ideal. Ideals live at the expense of one another,
just as organisms do* There are higher and lower ideals, just
as there are higher and lower animals, but the mysterious link
which connects them forbids the eradication of the one for the
sake of the other: in the process of battling with what appears
to be inferior, we take away the ground from beneath the more
valuable element And then the 'inferior* never fully merits
this description: it always contains positive possibilities, which
are not contained by higher forms as such. The same is true
of eroticism. It is not a higher impulse, and the highest
manifestations of which it is capable will not bear comparison
in human values with other qualities. Nevertheless, its mani-
festations are not only beautiful as such, so that it would
involve an impoverishment of the world if they disappeared:
they are in such intimate, interchangeable relation to other
higher qualities, that their existence seems to be absolutely
tied to them; artistic culture can only grow and flourish oa the
background of erotic culture. The puritanical soul appears
mean compared with the Catholic one; fanatics of morality
are always cripples, non-sensuous natures incapable of religious
profundity. As far as I am concerned, I content myself with
the discovery of the facts, and I am prepared to forego the
desire to resolve in the abstract the contradiction which, no

184 INDIA PART in

matter what people say, exists in reality} I regard it as uncul-
tured to explain away the peculiar character of this world from
rational considerations of doubtful soundness. And I find it
most profitable only to ponder the positive elements of appear-
ance. In some sense every tendency leads to goodj the percep-
tion of this significance in details is the fundamental problem
of the art of lifej to perceive it in its general relationship is the
ultimate aim of human wisdom.

CHITOR

As the strategic key to Mewar, as the most important castle
of Rajasthan, Chitor only very exceptionally experienced
a year without bloodshed before the English came. The
proudest memories of the proud Rajputs are connected with
Chitor j and that means that perhaps no place on earth has been
the scene of equal heroism, knightliness, or an equally noble
readiness to die. Here Badh Singh, the head of the Deolia
Pratapgarh, fell in the fight against Bahadur Shah of Guzerat j
it was here that Padmani, the beautiful queen for whose sake
Ala-Uddin-Khilji stormed the fortress, sought and found
death in the flames, together with all the Rajput women, when
all hope of victory had vanished, while Bhim Singh died with
the whole of his tribe on the walls. Here the bride of Jaimall
of Bednor fought side by side with her husband against the
legions of the great Akbar. — How strange it is to breathe an
atmosphere in India whose essence is historical! The Hindu
whom I have met hitherto knows nothing of historical eventsj
life flows along for him like a myth* And his belief in the
transmigration of souls, which robs life of the pathos of
*Einmaligkeit/ takes away the significance of history. Even I
cannot take history as yet quite in earnest. And if Chitor pro-
duces a deep impression upon my mind and soul all the same,
this happens as it were by a mental detour, which transmutes
the historical into the non-historical. The gods whose flowing
mental images form the background of all actions in this world

CHAP.22 CHITOR 185

do not attach great importance to the question as to whether
they will be condensed into *rea? events. They only pay atten-
tion to our world where ideal elements experience their highest
realisation in reality. In this way they took part once upon a
time in the great war between the sons of Kuru and Pandu.
Chitor fascinates me in the same way: never has more been
preconceived in the realm of ideas than became actual here.

The great days of Indian knighthood are said to have passed*
That may be: but its spirit is still alive* When I glance at the
Rajputs, I say to myself: given the opportunity and their
heroism will be proved once more. Their state of mind and
soul to-day is exactly that of our ancestors in the eleventh
century, when the Chanson de Roland was on the lips of every
one. They are knightly through and through ; paladins with-
out falsity, fear or blemish, as noble and as thoroughbred as
onlyjborses are nowadays. History does not record everything
which lives and exists; it only knows of that portion which
interferes immediately with material events; thus it arrives at
the fiction of the relief of one epoch by the succeeding one.
In truth they all continue to exist in and with another. Just as
no state in the individual literally passes away, but only dis-
appears from the scene of activity, so historical conditions
endure, although they no longer affect the movement of the
world. I know circles in which the eighteenth century still
continues, provinces in which, even to-day, the spirit of the
Reformation period dominates. I am sure there are still Chal-
deans, Sumerians, Phoenicians j only it is difficult to discover
them. - . „ This world is filled by ghosts* And they are
abroad most noisily where their existence is denied most defi-
nitely. Whence the multiplicity of the modem man who thinks
historically, his dissatisfaction, his enmity to his own world?
He wants to be different from what he is; he wants to fit him-
self into an intellectual structure by violence. In his supersti-
tious belief in himself as a historical unit, he endeavours to
silence that within himself which does not harmonise with his
age. Is it surprising that the repressed ghosts are sounding
the alarm? They have shouted many a promising genius out
of existence. — The Rajputs, however, whose times have passed

l86 INDIA PART m

long ago, these Homeric heroes in the century of industry, con-
tinue their magnificent existence unconcerned.

Night had fallen when the elephant bore me from the rock
fortress down the valley with noiseless steps. I lay on an
upholstered platform, the earth invisible below me, my gaze
lost in the stars, I was devoid of all consciousness of any
specific form of existence. Who I was, where I was, what I
did — I knew it not- I did not know any more that I was lying
on an elephant: ever since I had accustomed myself to the
rhythm of his steps, he existed for me no longer. I was ^not
driving nor riding nor flying, and I was certainly not walking.
Nothing was to be seen of the earth. Only heavenly bodies sur-
rounded me. And with the absolute security of a dreamer I
glided through the vast realm of space. Fundamentally it
seemed to me as if I were no longer confined to space. It
was that strange condition of externalisation which I have only
known on the verge of death, when an intense consciousness
of existence goes hand in hand with the volatility of reality.
It is impossible to assert firmly that one still continues to livej
one vanishes together with the world round about. And yet,
at such a moment, one is more convinced than ever of the
reality of one's being.

When I had to descend and faced, in the glaring torchlight,
as it were for the first time, the Leviathan to whom I had
entrusted myself, a shudder passed through me. It may yet
be true that the earth rests on a tortoise. For I did not per-
ceive more of the monster below me than the inhabitants of
the earth might feel if they were borne aloft on something
alive.

JAIPUR

How little my subconscious is still free from European prej-
udices! It disturbs me — I cannot describe it otherwise —
that there are men in India like the Rajputs! I still believe in
Indians, and I have abstracted this type from the Brah-

CHAP. 23 JAIPUR 187

mins, these femininely versatile intellectualsj and therefore it
strikes me as a 'contradiction' that I find myself among Indians
who resemble Prankish barons of the Middle Ages far more
than the mass of their nation. And I really ought to have
learned long ago not to apply the general European concept of
nation, race, people, etc., to Indians* When I gained my
first general survey over the tribes of Hindustan in Ramesh-
varam — and there they were all the followers of one faith! —
I had to think of the Iliad} how the Mirmidons differed for
Homer from the Spartans and Phodans no less than from the
Trojansj how for him, in spite of the community of language,
there was hardly any such thing as 'Greeks/ Only the various
tribes of Hindustan do not speak one but a hundred languages*
What I have experienced since, ought to have robbed me
altogether of the belief in 'the* Indiansj one small day's jour-
ney has not uncommonly shown me as varied aspects of
humanity as if I had suddenly been transferred from Iceland
to Sicily. What general concept is applicable in any way to the
peoples of India? Only that of 'caste/ as it is popularly
applied by the Hindus* This concept does not imply anything
limited or definite) every community is called caste which
appears exclusive in any sense. Sometimes it is based on blood
— the offspring of Mongols are of a different 'caste' from the
Hindusj sometimes on faith — as in the case of the Sikhsj here
the concept is due to geographical seclusion, in another case to
similar occupations. Exact, in the scientific sense, the Indians
have never been. Again and again the bathos of blood com-
munity has been watered down by the possibility of adoption;
again and again a religious community has assimilated followers
of another faith. The Hindus have differentiated only as art-
ists, that is to say, from the angle of a given present From
there they have observed more ably and drawn more far-
reaching conclusions from their observations than any other
people. They admit the type of each group with admirable
generosity. If a new sect, a heresy, is born in the land of a
certain faith, as soon as it seems sufficiently well founded to
have produced a new type, it is accepted as a new caste* Thus
the Hindu, who regards killing as a sacrilege and eating meat

i88 INDIA PART m

with horror, takes no offence in possessing fellow-believers
who, like the Rajputs, are beasts of prey. He does not judge
the various castes any differently from the various species of
animals, all of which are created by God and all of which have
a right to live; beyond this as a rule he does not think. If,
however, he does so, then his belief convinces him at once of
the excellence of the existing order: the soul must pass throug;h
varied incarnation in order to gain every conceivable experi-
ence. There are, no doubt, higher and lower forms of exist-
ence} the Brahmin stands above the Kshattrya, but his type
is no less necessary and ordained by God, for no soul seems ripe
for the bliss of wisdom which has not previously inhabited the
body of a fighter.

The weaknesses of such a point of view are obvious: thanks
to it, India has not only not achieved unity, but could not
possibly have acquired it. There is no Indian nation, no
Indian faith, no Indian spirit. On the other hand, how
marvellously rich and well adjusted is India's humanity!
How wonderfully every type is defined! Everywhere where,
as in the East, the individual is not decidedly unique, he be-
comes himself most in so far as he perfects his type. And
the Indians have differentiated as many types as can reason-
ably be differentiated, and they are prepared to accept every
new one: therefore, there is hardly any danger for the individ-
ual that caste should suppress his peculiarities. Really, I gain
the impression more and more that the caste system, at any rate
in idea, means more free play to the individual than our system,
which denies all typification. If every one of us were conscious
of his prof oundest being, and could express it freely, then, of
course, our system would be the most perfect conceivable j on
the other hand, the European who is not aware of his type is
guided all the more slavishly by abstract forms, whose limits
are more oppressive than any caste prejudice. The European
wants to be simply <man,5 forgetting that such a being does not
exist, and for this reason his growing consciousness of unity
brings about, not profundity, but surf ace unification* Con-
sciousness of unity has hardly ever taken deeper root, or been
more widespread, than amongst Indians, But there it assumes

CHAP. 23 JAIPUR 189

simultaneously the exclusiveness of the phenomenon. And
thus Indian humanity, which does not believe in personality, is
much more varied and richly differentiated than the individ-
ualistic humanity of the modern West.

It is a great delight to wander through this rose-tinted town.
How splendid these Rajputs look! Life in Jaipur is conducted
no differently from that at the courts of nilers in the heroic
age, as Valmiki has described it in the Ramayana, The day
after to-morrow the visit of the Queen of England is expected.
Knights enter by all the gates in their clashing armour, at-
tended by their horsemen and vassals. The brother of the
Maharajah, a dominating figure, rides in a purple robe upon
a gold-decked elephant through the streets, in order to super-
vise the preparations for the reception. Just now the Naga
(snake) troops passed by me: young noblemen in close-fitting
green armour, whose leaders perform a wild sword-dance
during the march.

THE world of the Rajput is indeed medieval, so much so,
that no boy whose ideas have been formulated by the novels
of Fouque would be disappointed by its reality. In Jaipur
they do not ride, but gallop j all the arts of knighthood are
practised j only knightly virtues matter, knights alone count.
Here that excessive one-sidedness predominates which alone
leads to the production of strong and enduring forms.

It is undoubtedly better if the forces of heredity are over-
rather than underestimated. There are no more noble types
than these Rajputsj the best-bred herds are rarely as perfectly
and as evenly beautiful as this race. How paltry do the bearers
of our oldest names, the oldest of which only date from yester-
day, compared with those of India, appear by the side of any
Rajput! — We are here concerned with the greatest triumph of
human breeding that I know of j it is amply unheard of that
the results of centuries, if not of thousands of years, even of
the wisest in-breeding, satisfy the highest demands so that
there is no evidence of degeneration. Whence this ^success?
I do not wish to go into the physiological and biological side

INDIA PART ra

of the problem, for whose solution the necessary data are still
missing. Perhaps it is because they exhaust themselves less
than we do, because their nervous nature is more robust, their
variability smaller (which is to the advantage of the preser-
vation and consolidation of the type) — it is certain that the
races of the East are longer-lived in general than ours, and
that the continuance of a type seems less endangered than in
our case. But we are only looking at one side of the problem
in pointing to the physical condition: why do the laws of
heredity function, not nearly so unfailingly, as they do in the
case of animals? Because in the former psychic circumstances
play their part, because these are in many cases the deciding
factors. Undoubtedly the marvellous consistency with which
the type is handed on among the Rajputs is traceable in large
measure to psychic factors.

What has happened, and is happening, in Europe, leaves me
little doubt as to the correctness of this view. Up to the begin-
ning of the recent anti-static epoch, our generations too were
longer lived and their types were inherited with greater cer-
tainty than has happened since; and even to-day the country
gentleman and the peasant — that is to say, those who confess
the static view of the world — represent the most permanent
types of all. The man of the Middle Ages believed in himself
as the bearer of a specific form. Every offspring of a knight
assumed, as a matter of course, that, by virtue of his blood, he
inherited knightly virtues — and thus they generally took
possession of him, This assured belief then created from itself
the further drcumstances which helped to secure the type:
the avoidance of intercourse with members of other castes, the
rapid and complete elimination of those who did not fit the
type, the consideration, in choosing a bride, of the best possi-
bilities for the anticipated heirs, the unceasing self -discipline
in the light of the ideals of his station in life, and so on. Ever
since the old forms have lost prestige, since none of them is
considered necessary any longer, and since the ideal of rising
in the social order has replaced the original idea of a complete
filling of the station in which and to which one was called, the
psychic conditions are opposed to the preservation of types. No

CHAP.23 JAIPUR 191

wonder that ever since they lose increasingly in vitality. The
psychic disposition of a man is never originally capable of only
one, but of manifold expression. If the form is not taken
seriously by the man who bears it, it results inevitably in lack of
character, which, slowly but surely, transfers its effect from his
soul to his physique* Only that which represents an ideal to a
man remains permanently vitalised. The houses of rulers
degenerate more slowly than any others because they are sup-
ported by the most powerful ideals j the landed gentry degener-
ate more slowly than the patrician, because the basis of its
ideals is prof ounder. Everywhere among men psychic circum-
stances are decisive j where they counteract the consolidation
of a type, no amount of pure breeding is of any avail.

The general view of life in the East corresponds with that
of our Middle Ages. The East believes in its traditions. The
fact that this faith is more powerful here than it has ever been
with us is due to its incomparably greater intensity. This
brings me at last to speak of a problem which has occupied
me since the first days of my stay on Indian soil: the power of
faith of the Indian exceeds every, even the most extravagant,
conception which the Westerner can formulate. His faith is
incapable of being shaken. You may prove^to him whatever
and as much as you like, he adheres to his concepts as an
octopus adheres to an object he has seized. Thus he believes
in his caste with the same fervour with which Luther ^believed
in God. This creates a condition of consciousness in which
forces become effective which would otherwise have remained
out of play: forces which 'move mountains.' Thus it is that
tradition performs in India what really goes beyond its power.
Even among us, the continuation of family types is conditioned
psychically to a considerable degree: the continued desire to
rival an image leads ultimately to its realisation. Amongst
Indian nobles, with their gigantic power of faith, the great
simplicity of their nature and their much simpler psyche, the
same happens in the highest degree.

And thus it is possible to do justice to the much-despised
caste system. Its basis is largely imaginary. Its assumption of
the all-pervading differences in blood does not bear criticism}

ig2

INDIA PART in

the laws of heredity do not act as simply as the Hindus assume.
The complex abstract system which to-day controls the adjust-
ment of society is not only imperf ect, but haphazard and often
contrary to nature* No wonder, then, that all who know India
only superficially condemn it as a monstrosity. As a matter of
fact, it justifies itself fully as well as any other, which the more
reasonable West has invented, because in India one factor is
the main consideration which hardly arises in the West: an
almost unlimited power of faith. The Indian simply believes
in the mental gifts of the Brahmins, the knightly attitude of the
Kshattrya, the economic efficiency of the Vaicya, and the pre-
destination to service of the Cudraj he believes with almost
the same intensity in the specific virtues of each sub-caste.
What is the result? Psychic conditions are established, thanks
to which the smallest seed which corresponds to the assump-
tions of faith can develop freely, whilst all others die quickly,
so that the caste of the Brahmins, for instance, really produces
as many thinkers and priests as it could produce in the best
possible circumstances, whereas its inefficient members remain
unnoticed. Men never notice what is opposed to their firm
belief. In the end it is their faith which creates the reality
which is appropriate to them. And the presupposed peculiar
proficiencies of each caste are inherited by its members with
greater certainty than seems compatible with the laws of
nature, because nobody knows them. That is to say, that edu-
cation completes what heredity has begun. It is therefore
doubtlessly more desirable, I have said already, to over- rather
than to undervalue the power of tradition: its might is capable
of enormous developments by means of creative faith.

From here I thiiik back to the fundamental teachings of
Indian philosophy. If any people have been bidden to affirm
mental bonds, this is true of the Indian people. Here, more
than anywhere else, psychic conditions have determined the
nature of material reality; this reality is differentiated more
richly than anywhere elsej nowhere in the world does the
type, as type, seem anything like as substantial. And yet,
Indian thinkers have never erred in the way in which Western
ones have always done from much more slender causes, namely,

CHAP. 24 LAHORE 193

to take manifestations seriously in a metaphysical sense. With
them, the consideration which among us is still a paradox,
was a matter of course: that whatever can be created by an
arbitrary act, is for that very reason not necessary. I behold
the gay spectacle before me through the eyes of a Rishi: is not
the world only as it is because it might just as well have been
different? How strong the local colour of Jaipur seems to be!
And yet: if I concentrate my mind upon it, it pales, becomes
evanescent, and all contours melt away*

24.

LAHORE

y AM now in the Northern Punjab, A completely new world,
JL judged, from the point of view of the man who only knows
India. To me, however, this world is all too familiar. In
Lahore at Christmas everything looks very much die same as
it does in the moderate dime of Europe at the same time*
At any rate, I, a transient visitor, cannot recogpise any essential
difference, because the f ramework within which my life takes
place is completely European. This perturbs my mind not a
little: why have I journeyed hither? The ^brother ass,5 how-
ever, the flesh, the creature of habit, is immensely pleasedj I
often have to laugh at how much he enjoys the cuisine, the
comfort, the whole atmosphere. Nor does his joy seem to be
reduced by the fact that, in the very first hour of his arrival,
he caught a bad cold: this too belongs to the northern winter.
The affectionate peasant wife even likes being beaten by her
husband on his return home. * . .

I must away. I dare not feel too comfortable. What a lot
of trouble this condition gives one! Everywhere, where one
has stayed a while, it steals in silently, and, once it has made
itself at home, it does not rest until it has resolved all tension.
There is nothing worse that can be said of a mode of life than
that it favours such a condition. Being comfortable means
nothing else than that one's whole existence is subjected to the
spirit of inertia. I really do not belong to those who preach

194

INDIA PART m

the mortification of the flesh} on the other hand, however, I
refuse to countenance all enervating experiences. The joys and
delights of life in themselves are not enervating at all: only
the habit of enjoyment enervates j the habit is the real enemy.
In this respect the ascetics have probably never thought clearly.
In their simpleness they failed to see that the habit of chastise-
ment is just as evil as the habit of gluttony. If it were other-
wise, there would be fewer miserable wretches among those
who renounce on principle. Generally, they are even more
dull than the Bohemians, which is saying a good deal. — The
'old Adam' who ought to be resisted daily and hourly is the
creature of habit. There are no such things as good habits*
It is not true that any routine of life produces freedom of spirit.
A saint by routine is no saint at all} only faithfulness which
could have been avoided has ideal value. The minute an action
becomes a habit, the spirit vanishes from which it emanated.
Mechanical action takes the place of spontaneous creation.
And the only man who finds his way back to the creator within
himself from the machine, is the man who smashes it. — The
fact that man needs a certain regularity in life is due to the fact
that he cannot be absolutely freej in order to be free in any one
particular direction, he must tie himself down all the more
firmly in another. The advantage of all rules is exclusively
based on the fact that they make freedom possible, not that
they enchain us — and this advantage is lost the moment we
take a liking to the chains.

I must get away from Lahore} it must not get comfortable.
But I am compelled to admire the extent to which the white
residents have impressed their character upon this Indian
town} here the native quarters appear hardly less exotic than
the ghettos in New York or Amsterdam. Lack of understand-
ing is an enormous power. If Englishmen cut themselves off
a little less narrow-mindedly from everything which is not
English— they could never rule India as they do. And it is
probably the same everywhere. The most successful con-
noisseurs of women are always those who have least considera-
tion for their emotional life} the best educators are always those
who preserve the greatest distance from their pupils. The

CHAP. 25 PESHAWAR

195

Jewish-Christian world looks up to its personal God in the
same way. Humanity would not have credited Him with the
quality of universal goodness and understanding quite so un-
hesitatingly, nor would it rely so firmly upon the belief that
He does everything for the best, if He had not proved, by
fundamental misunderstanding, by indifference to all hopes and
all desires, that He undoubtedly stands above it all.

PESHAWAR

I HAVE really strayed beyond India. Leafless trees, the cold,
clear air of winter^ broad, dusty high roads on which men
wander about, whose physical type is familiar to me. Curious:
between Afghanistan and Russia there lies a whole world
Every district of Central Ma is inhabited by different tribes,
possessing differing histories and cultures, with different cus-
toms and mannersj and yet to-day one psychic atmosphere is
spread from the Khybsr Pass to the Ural Mountains. la
this atmosphere all significance disappears. In Peshawar mur-
ders take place daily, and gaily coloured Indian shawls are
for sale — what does it matter? Everything might just as well
not happen at all, or happen differently. The meaning of life
here is not changed by one event more or less, by one event of
this or of another kind* The camels march one behind the
other in long, endless rows. Century follows century in one
long, unending sequence. Millions of similar people die
rhythmically one after another, sometimes violently, sometimes
naturally, all with the stereotyped expression of a shrug of the
shoulders.

I am seized by that infinite melancholy for which only the
Russians possess the right word: Unytne. I want nothing, lad:
nothing, I have no demonstrable reason for it, I am just melan-
choly. My soul is hollowed out, as it were. This Asia knows
no vibrations of a mental kind. The rays which I radiate
myself disappear in endless space, but I lack the inner power
to arrest them. The result is a feeling of emptiness which

196 INDIA PART ra

makes me profoundly miserable. And then, alien, brutal
forces enter into me — the thoughts and desires which may
dwell in the wild hearts of Afghan cattle-thieves. I can hardly
resist them, so suddenly do they assail me. And then I recog-
nise in horror that they are not at all as alien to my inner self
as I had thought: in me too there is somewhere, deep down, a
crude Central Asiatic, and I curse the air which has let him be
wakened from his slumber.

Yet this world contains possibilities for unique greatness.
When the storm is let loose over the desert, whole mountains
of sand are piled up which roll on like waves. Such storm
forces have several times been embodied in men. They were
beings without souls or sense, without inward aim or feeling
for valuesj they hardly possessed any human consciousness,
But on the other hand, the elemental force of the desert storm
was in them. Like grains of sand they drove nations before
them, burying cultures under mountains of sand. But if these
did not remain, then everything was once more as if nothing
had happened, as if their invasion had been an evil dream. —
These conquerors represent intrinsically non-spiritual powers.
But greatness, yes, superhuman greatness, cannot be denied to
Attila and Jenghiz Khan.

AND to think that here, and not even at such an immeasur-
able distance of time, lay the very centre of Buddhistic culture i
That the Valley of Kabul was the holy land of Mahayana doc-
trine, longed for by every searcher from the land of the five
streams to the Japanese sea, the scene of the blending of the
Hellenic and Indian spirits in art, culture and religion, to
which all the later developments of the Far East can originally
be traced!— Central Asia was, for thousands of years, the source
of all spiritual influences on earth. But as the waters dried up
and the gardens withered to the dust of the desert, the spirit
vanished irretrievably from this parched atmosphere, and the
extreinest forms of barbarism became the heir to the extreme
of culture.— My thoughts wander back to my geological days
and the way in which I then regarded the worldj in the Alps,

CHAP.25 PESHAWAR 197

I beheld the ocean, liquid lava in basalt, and life itself in the
rigidity of stone. The archaeologist beholds Central Asia with
a similar vision* But, it seems to me, both overlook the really
significant factor. This is the change in itself. Anyone who
has ever been a fanner knows what 'history* means: one year
of culture more or less represents cosmically an absolute entity;
it cannot be taken away nor retrieved; such time is real before
eternity. For such time creates change* Where growth is
guided by conscious volition, development takes place} every-
thing progresses, marches onward, further and further, and no
end is in sight. If, for any reason, volition fails, all events
change their being. Development diverges, branches off, or
even ceases, and the casual takes the place of the rational.
Thus the desert follows upon the garden, the wilderness upon
culture, lack of all spirit upon spirit, eternal death upon brief
life. What folly to believe in a Providence which guides life
on earth from outside! Life could, of course, progress in
accordance with a high purpose, no principle is opposed to
such a course; we men will perhaps one day bring about such
a state of affairs. But what happens on earth seems a matter
of complete indifference to GcxL Spirit yesterday, none to-
day, to-morrow perhaps spirit again; sometimes garden, some-
times desert, sometimes the primeval forest, sometimes the
sea: I dare say He delights in aimless change, as the tired
Maharajah delights in the Nautch, so that eternity should not
become too tedious for Him.

NONE the less, it is stimulating to live for a while among such
wild fellows as the Af ridis. They are magnificent — like beasts
of prey in their primitiveness, their instinctive irrespoaability.
The Government does not like to see people going unprotected
and without a guide through the bazaars: suddenly one of
these gentlemen might dig a dagger between one's ribs, the
Government would have to interfere, which, in its wisdonij it
prefers not to do, because murdering means nothing worse to
them than the polite expression of a differing opinion does
among us. Could I bear the Af ridi a grudge who sought my

198 INDIA PART ra

life? Hardly. At any rate, no more than a tiger. And as I
wend my way through the narrow streets, I look out whether
I cannot spy the beginnings of a quarrel. These men must
look magnificent when fighting- As long as peace reigns, the
best in them is asleep, in the same way in which the best sleeps
in the Spanish fighting bull while he chews the cud.

All at once I must laugh: the Afridis are the very embodi-
ment of that ideal of supermen to which a fair proportion of
our young poets cling! Great men who are cruel because they
must be so, who fulfil their destiny although it ruins them —
whose passion knows no limit — who are never led astray by
reasonable considerations: yes, indeed, the description befits
them* It is droll to think to what manifestations the need
for hero-worship leads over-civilised townsmen. Undoubtedly
originality is necessary: but is it not possible to conceive a
higher kind than that of the animals? It is hardly conceivable
that the Athenians who surrounded Pkto looked up to Achilles
and Diogenes as ideals } it needed the modern decadents to
lower the ideal of humanity so much to the animal level j even
Nietzsche, the gentle pastor's son, never intended anything
of this sort, no matter what he may have said. But to-day we
have really reached the stage at which originality and primitive-
ness in the animal sense appear identified. I am quite pre-
pared, and why not, to honour the candour of the cowj only, I
stipulate that she shall not write j this form of expression is
only suited to cultured human beings. I refuse in the same
way to honour savages as heroes. — The Afridis are really the
supermen worshipped by our modern literary youth. It amuses
me to examine them from this point of view. Formerly it
used to be said: he who controls himself is strong. To-day:
he who must let himself go. Of course, to anyone who has no
passion at all, its mere existence implies an ideal. But it is not
true that all modern men are emasculated j only those who write
are for the most part in this state, the canaille ecrivante, caba-
Unte el comwlsionnaire of Voltaire, the most unreal people of
all, and to-day, it is more fatal than ever that they have so
much jx)wen The ideal of the emaciated, the impotent, the
weakling, drives healthy individuals into baAarism. Literary

CHAP.26 DELHI 199

cows are magnified, savage churls are honoured as heroes:
thus more and more cows begin to write, and more and more
men capable of culture become savage. How good it would
be for the young men of to-day to imbibe a little Indian wis-
dom ! To learn that it is a sign of weakness and not of strength
if a man has to be cruel, if he succumbs to his fate, if he is not
master of his passion, if he is impervious to the considerations
of reason, and that not only the superman of the newest, but
also the tragic hero of the classical pattern, embodies a bar-
baric condition! No doubt the modern condition of humanity
is not worth much} but the ideal which we should strive after
lies in the direction of transfusing life with spirit, not with
animality. Not only the cow, but God also, is natural, and we
should simulate the latter, not the former. All the more so as
we are already much nearer to Him. As I regard these Af ridis,
I realise very clearly how far their nature is removed from
ours. Perhaps it is due to this change of perspective, as op-
posed to the conditions of antiquity, that the animal seems to
us above everything worthy of reverence, just as God seemed
to the ancients* . . .

DELHI

I SEE myself transplanted without any transition from bar-
barism into a town which, a few centuries ago, was still
considered as an unrivalled centre of culture, and yet I ain not
aware of any strong spiritual vibrations: in the midst of the
splendours of Delhi I feel cold. It lacks altogether individual
significance, deeper expressive values, and this is particularly
true of the mosques. Mohammed was quite right, like his spir-
itual cousin, Calvin, in banning all sensual charm from places
of worship: no work of art is appropriate to this god. His liv-
ing spirit is revealed in wild nature, on the field of battle, in
the power and justice of the Caliphsj the 'artistically beautiful'
is not a possible means of expression for Him. ^This fact
appears here, where Indian artists have put all their delicacy

200 INDIA PART m

and all their versatility at the disposal of the Mussulman, with
painful clarity. This art means nothing here at all, no matter
how attractive it may be; it lacks the background which it
possesses at the courts of Indian princes. In India the Moham-
medans appear important only as rulers, and for this reason
only those monuments possess an atmosphere which express
their imperial sway: fortresses, walls, mausoleums; and in
other artistic creations their magnificence in itself, their great-
ness, the mere possibility of their having been created. The
artistically beautiful, as such, cannot be a direct expression of
Empire; by themselves the show buildings of the Grand
Moguls tell us nothing more than that they had the power
to erect them. Imperialistic art is really rich in content only
where it appears as perfected appropriateness. Hence the
enormous expressive values of the Roman aqueducts, every
one of whose arches possesses more soul than the most beauti-
ful monuments erected according to Greek patterns; hence
in our days the fact that only metal structures, stations, bridges
and tunnels, possess living artistic value. I therefore find in
Delhi, as in Rome, my greatest pleasure in wandering at
random through the landscape without looking too much at
detail. The landscape is closely related to that of the Cam-
pagna, in spite of all their concrete differences. There and
here blows a spirit expressive of space, completeness, greatness,
whose elements are yet closely bound together — the spirit of
Empire*

If I relate — what I have really no business to do — the beauty
of the mosques and palaces of Delhi, not to Islamic rule as
such but to the remarkable individual men who have embodied
it, then no doubt it acquires a profound meaning. And if I
trace worldly power and beauty together back to the soul of an
individual, then he appears on a scale which will not easily
find a parallel in history. It goes hard to judge rightly here:
but to-day it seems to me as if the great ones among the Grand
Moguls were, as types, the greatest aiders which mankind
has produced. They were men of vehement temperament, as
the offspring of a Jenghiz Khan and a Timur had to be, refined
diplomats, experienced connoisseurs of men, and simultane-

CHAP, 26 DELHI 201

ously sages, esthetes and dreamers. Such a constellation has
never occurred in the West, at any rate to no good purpose.
The greatly praised Marcus Aurelius, for instance, has some-
thing distinctly ridiculous, owing to the display of his philos-
opher's mantle in the wrong place. (The equestrian statue on
the Capitol, which makes me laugh every time I look at it, is
undoubtedly like its original.) Frederick II, however, the
Hohenstaufer, the only European ruler who offers a com-
parison, was, probably, an extremely interesting individual,
but nothing like as important as a ruler. All excessively richly
endowed natures which came to the throne in the West ex-
pressed versatility in officiousnessj one talent overflowed into
another j so that the poet dreamed away his wars, or strove to
realise his poetic creations, the wise man laid lame the man of
action, the diplomat imposed himself on the philosopher, and
finally the man — the most important element of a ruler— lost
the unity of his effectiveness. In the case of an Akbar this
unity lay beyond everything which he did, which he recognised
and which happened to him; his wealth always remained con-
centrated. As Emperor he stood above the poet, the dreamer,
the god-seeker and the sceptical sage. For this reason every
arabesque which he inspired bears the imperial stamp. Ail
equally superior human synthesis has never been embodied
by any prince of the West* Only a few of the Popes have suc-
ceeded in doing this. In fact, the palaces of papal Rome exhale
a spirit which is reminiscent of Delhi. In the case of the Popes,
their external position has had a similar effect as the natural
traits of the offspring of Timur. The Pope, as God's lieu-
tenant, as unquestioned ruler of Christianity, as infallible judge
of all controversy, inevitably attains, if he is fitted £ or hk
popedom at all, something of the superiority and inner tendon
which characterised Akbar. Even his greatness was condi-
tioned not by nature alone: most of the means, which among
Western rulers are at the disposal only of the Pope, such as
the unchallengeability of his power and the obedience of sub-
ordinates as a matter of course, fell to the lot of every autocrat
in Asia. Nevertheless, there has only been one great Mogul
dynasty, and among them only a few great, and one supremely

202 INDIA PART HI

great, ruler, so that I am probably justified in honouring
Akbar as the greatest Emperor of whom I know. It is
marvellous how all conceivable expressions of the Mogul power
have found a single centre in the soul of this one man. Austere
greatness, universality, superior sense of justice j and at ^ the
same time the fragrant colours of an almost feminine drawing-
room culture, the all-pervading understanding of the philos-
opher, the vibrating sensuousness of the poet. Yes, this man
seems superhumanly great when one has recognised that above
all he was a lover: a delicate, fragile soul, with a superabun-
dant capacity for sympathy. It reminds one of the ideal picture
of the Christian God: the almighty and just father, whojrules
the destiny of the world with an iron hand, and who is simul-
taneously pure love and pure compassion; who bears the bur-
den of the sin of the sinner more heavily than the most peni-
tent mortal could, and whose life appears as an unending
tragedy, as He can never give enough.

Greatness, constituted thus, requires necessarily a super-
national inner standpoint, which is also expressed in the fact
that the Indian emperors, like the Csesars and Pontifices of
Rome, were of any origin. The grandiose tolerance of Akbar
seems, once we have admitted his nature, just as much a matter
of course as the relative largesse of the aristocrat as opposed
to the pettiness of the plebeian. Thus, the tolerance which
Moslems, unless they happen to belong to a fanatical sect,
display towards those of a different faith, is based on nothing
but their greater distinction. The more I see of Islam, the
more am I impressed by the superiority this faith gives to its
confessors. Apparently nothing is more advantageous to men
than to regard themselves as chosen. Everybody who believes
in himself, no matter who he be, stands on a higher level than
the wobbler. The lack of distinction of the typical Christian
who takes his faith literally, is due to his plebeian timorousness,
It is not difficult to make the counter-test: the original Calvin-
ists regarded themselves as chosen in the same way as the
Moslems, and there is no doubt that among them the most
superior types which Christianity has produced are to be found*
They were never quite so distinguished as the Moslemsj for

CHAP. 26 DELHI 203

this reason they were also intolerant. What parson was ever
so generous as Mahomet, whom tradition credits with having
said: *The differences of opinion in my congregation are a
sign of divine compassion'? They stood, however, high above
the Lutherans, who lived in constant fear of the uncertain,
and they stood hardly less high above 'the Catholics, whose
church robbed them of their feeling of responsibility. — Yes,
in superior tolerance, not only the Brahmanic and Buddhistic,
but also the Islamic East, can stand above the West. How is
it, now, that the latter has never lost its character, which the
European does regularly, when he discards his national preju-
dices? I do not know as yet. The national character always
seems somewhat blurred wherever the crescent moon illumi-
nates the landscape, which is particularly noticeable here in
India, where the types are otherwise outlined so clearly. But
its place is taken by a more universal and no less definite
character: that of the Mussulman. Every single Moham-
medan whom I asked what he is, replied: CI am a Mussulman.*
Why has this religion alone understood how to substitute
national feeling by something wider? And by a something
wider which is no less strong and significant? How is it that
Islam, without a corresponding dogma, achieves the ideal of
universal brotherhood, whereas Christianity fails in spite of
its ideals? It must be due to intimate relations between the
underlying tendencies of this peculiar faith and the funda-
mental traits in the nature of its followers, concerning which I
am still quite in the dark.

The formative power of Islam is truly immense. Even the
faces of the faithful, who belong unmistakably to the blood o£
the Hindus, betray the self-conscious, calmly superior ex-
pression which characterises the Moslem everywhere. These
Indians are no hallucinated dreamers, no strangers in this
world. Their effect is correspondingly more real. ^ Their
muscles seem taut, their eyes keen, their attitude is, as it were,
ready to jump} their physique has much more expressive value*
How right are Englishmen in regarding and treating the
Islamic element in India as the decisive onel

I am continuously exercised by the problem, whence Islam

204 INDIA PART m

derives its formative power which seems so much greater than
that of all other religions. Reflection upon the extreme demo-
cratic nature of Mohammedan communities has given me at
last to-day, unless I am mistaken, the right clue to the problem.
The democracy of Islam explains its power of attraction, espe-
cially in India, where conversion to it implies the only possi-
bility of escaping from caste rigidity} and here it is a ques-
tion of real equality — far more so than in the United States
of America, for the Moslems are not merely supposed to
be brothers, but they really treat each other as such, irre-
spective of race, means and position. But this democracy is
nothing ultimate} it is the effect of a profounder cause, and
this seems to offer me the key to all the riddles of the advan-
tages of the Mohammedan faith. Islam is the religion of
absolute submission. What Schleiermacher has described as
the nature of all religiosity does in fact define that of the
Mussulman. He feels himself to be at all times in the abso-
lute power of his divine master, and, moreover, in his personal
power, not in that of his ministers and servants} he always
stands face to face with him. This conditions the democratic
quality of Islam. In all absolute monarchies the spirit of
equality reigns supreme up to the steps of the throne} of all
European countries, the Russia of yesterday was the most
democratic, because, compared with the absolute power of the
Czar, all differences between his subjects seemed insignificant.
But there are autocracies of various kinds } they appear strong
or weak, according to the kind of ruler they possess* Thus
the unique formative power of Islam depends on the unique
nature of their God. Allah deserves the name of the Master
of Armies far more than Jehovah, far more than the Christian
God. He is an autocrat in the sense of a general, not that of a
tyrant And thus I appear to have it: the Mohammedan faith
signifies, as the only one in the world, essentially military
discipline. There is no question of right, no begging, no argu-
ing, no crawling to and before God} here mere intention in
prayer (Schirk) is a cardinal sin} man has to obey orders like a
soldier* Now no one will deny that the form of consciousness
of a well-drilled soldier ensures the greatest efficiency of all

CHAP* 26 DELHI 205

everywhere where execution and not thinking out of a problem
is concerned. The Islamic world represents a single army
with a unified, unbroken spirit. Such a spirit melts down all
differences in the long runj it makes every one into a comrade.
In Islam it has melted down all racial differences. The ritual-
ism of this faith has a different significance from that of Hin-
duism and Catholicism. It is a question of making discipline
objective. When the faithful perform their prayers at fixed
hours in the mosque, kneeling there line upon line, when they
all go through the same gesture simultaneously, this is not
done, as in the case of Hinduism, as a means to self-realisation,
but it is done in the spirit in which a Prussian soldier files past
his Emperor. This fundamentally military attitude explains
all the intrinsic advantages of a Mussulman. It explains
simultaneously his fundamental failings: his lad: of progres-
siveness, his inadaptability, his lad: of inventive power. The
soldier only has to obey his orders} the rest is Allah's busi-
ness.

From this angle it may perhaps be possible to do justice to
the demand for obedience in religion, on which modern
thought places a purely negative value. It is regarded as aa
old adage among soldiers that only he who can obey knows
how to command. Why? Because commanding and obeying
presuppose an identical inner state of collectedness. The man
who learns how to obey learns really simultaneously how to
command. And thus, nothing could be more unwise than to
condemn the demand for obedience, which is done very often,
as a training of weakness: on the contrary, none gives greater
strength. Only such training must not be extended indefi-
nitely; it must not last beyond the moment in which a man
has learned to command himself. If it were otherwise, then
the lower military rank would embody the ideal type of
humanity, and the Jesuit would be above the sage.

ISLAM is more than anything else the religion of the ample
soldier. It makes him great as no other religion does, since
the day that Cromwellian Puritanism died out I am thinking

206 INDIA PART III

of the North African Arab: his life is as clear as the air of the
desert. His ideal consists in being healthy and pure, in never
having doubted, never having fought inwardly, in waiting
calmly and fearlessly for the call of eternity; and this simple,
clear ideal he does realise. This means something, for it is no
mean ideal, simple though it may be: only the inwardly
superior individual can attain to it. The fatalism of the Mos-
lem, like that of the original Calvinist, and in contradistinction
to that of the Russian, is the expression not of weakness but of
strength. He neither trembles before the terrible God in
whom he believes, nor does he hope for His particular benev-
olence, nor does he suffer himself to be driven at will by fate:
he stands there, proud and inwardly free, opposite to the
Superior Power, faring eternity with the same equanimity as he
faces death. The Mohammedan does not squint at heaven like
the Christian, although he is much more sure of it. He is
too proud to anticipate fate. Events may take what course
they will: mekhtub (it is written).

The belief in predestination is always grandiose in effect
where its disciples possess proud souls. This was not so in
the case of the Greeks5 nor did it make them any greater.
(Edipus Rex does not grow in our estimation through his
tragedy, this merely increases our sympathy for him. The
Mohammedans are proud. Islam makes every one proud who
professes it, just as the king's uniform makes every one proud*
Thus, the highest pathos befits the life of the Mohammedan,
The remarks of a strictly religious Egyptian princess, who
had endured a great deal of sorrow in her life and now faced
her end calmly, were once repeated to me. She said: *We
women have not been promised eternal bliss, as men have. Is
that, however, a cause for anxiety? Or for non-compliance
with our earthly duty? We women do good for love's sake,
and we do not ask for any reward.7 Her thoughts were truly
Islamic. It was the expression specifically of Islamic greatness,
a greatness such as does not occur in the same way anywhere
else. The Buddhist, too, does not worry about life or death,
and goes calmly on his way; but he does not care for life; he
wants Nimnaj his renunciation lacks pathos correspondingly*

CHAP* 26 DELHI 207

The Mohammedan is purely earthly in his attitude} he lads
all intellectual transcendentalism. His proud self -content is
therefore all the more noble.

Within Christianity there has been only one formation which
has produced similarly superior men: that of Calvinistic Prot-
estantism. Calvinism and Islam are, in fact, as has been re-
marked several times already, closely related. Both religions
present the dogma of predestination} Puritans as well as
Mohammedans regard themselves as the chosen of the Lord,
and are correspondingly self -assured} the divinities of both
possess the same character* And Mahomet as well as Calvin
was opposed to theological speculation and in favour of con-
quering the earth. Similar causes, similar effects. But if
Puritanism, thanks to its progressive tendencies, has proved
itself superior in the formation of this world to Islam, it must
be stated in favour of the latter that, as far as inner distinction
is concerned, the Puritan has never rivalled the Moslem. This
is due to the fact that the Puritan was never enabled to free
himself from the slavish consciousness of sin, that original sia
of all Christianity which always makes him tremble before the
Lord. The Moslem trusts Him above everything else, as the
soldier trusts his general.

AS I sit before the funeral monuments of the emperors and
generals, whose mighty cupolas stretch out again and again
above the remains of old Delhi into the cloudless sky, and
think of the relation in which the Moslem stands to death
and eternity, it seems to me often as if the sound of Luther's
hymn, <Ein f este Burg ist unser Gott/ came from within them.
Its atmosphere corresponds very well to the spirit of Moham-
medanism, better than it does to the Lutheranism of to-day.
The colour of proud assurance, of delight in battle which
belongs to this song as perhaps to no second creation of the
Christian spirit, is the intrinsic colour of the faith which goes
back to the prophet of Arabia.

To-day I feel impressed, as I have not done for a long time,
by the austere greatness of monotheism. It is grand, this con-

208 INDIA PARTHI

ception of man who stands naked and alone and without
intermediaries, opposite to his God, a God who will decide
his fate, unrestrained by laws and regulations, entirely accord-
ing to His whim. It lends unique pathos to the life of the
individual. How much more power does confidence in such a
God presuppose than the faith of the theosophist! ^ And con-
versely: what strength it must give! — The fact that it does so is
proved in history with a clearness which does not often occurj
nowhere have there been stronger characters, nor are there
any to-day, than among Mohammedans and Protestants.
Radical monotheism points men absolutely to themselves (if it
is said that it delivers them, on the contrary, entirely to God,
this is only another way of putting the same relationship) j it
makes man absolutely responsible. Thus it is inevitable that
his soul becomes as firm as his nature permits. It becomes
correspondingly unformative, clumsy, rigid, and aridj mon-
otheism cannot compete with polytheism in psychic variety.
But the soul does grow strong. The monotheist possesses,
above all, character. He therefore reveres character, whose
immutability he postulates as the highest value.

An Arabian proverb declares: clf thou hearest that a moun-
tain has been moved, believe it j but if thou hearest that a man
has changed his character, do not believe it.5 What sage of
India would ever have pronounced such a saying? We are not
concerned here with the matter-of-course assumption that the
elements of a nature are simply given phenomena, but with the
assertion of the immutability of the kind of their relationship.
This assertion could only be made by a monotheist, by a man
who believes in a personal God whom he faces as an external
being, whose God above all represents character. Character
signifies something ultimate only to such a man. The Indian
view is the more profound, but it cannot be denied that the
Islamic and Protestant view, judged from the angle of efficacy
in this world, stands the pragmatic test more satisfactorily.
In the case of the monotheist, self -consciousness is concen-
trated in the person j it signifies something ultimate, insur-
mountable, for which he will have to answer at the Last Judg-
ment* Therefore, whatever he possesses of profundity grows

CHAP.26 DELHI 209

into his personal peculiarities. How weak the most eminent
Hindu appears by the side of any Mussulman! Or else, even
a very great Western thinker (in so far as his self -consciousness
is rooted in the super-personal) by the side of a narrow-minded
Prussian officer! — The latter is not more valuable for this
reason in the metaphysical sense } Character5 is, and remains, a
limitation} all higher humanity begins above it. But since
higher humanity is not in question for the masses, it would
probably be well if these at any rate had character} if all
simple, uneducated people believed in God in the way in which
Moslems do.

IF I had been transplanted directly from Southern India to
Delhi, I would probably have felt at once what is now revealed
to me on reflection: how little alien this world is to me j the
European hardly requires to change his attitude in order to
understand it. I imagine that the Italians who came to the
court at Delhi acclimatised themselves there without any^dffi-
culty, and that they worked there as a matter of course in its
own sense, for the culture which dominated here did not
differ in spirit from that of Latin courts of the same^ period.
It differed from the latter perhaps only by a shade: its Fata
Morgana-like quality. The Grand Moguls did not really live
in the fairy world which their artists created round about them,
but they looked at it as they looked upon a stage festival.
Their real life was stern and crude, much more stem than
those of the Popes and princes of Italy. But just as the milk-
white marble bric-a-brac seems planted upon the massive for-
tress of Delhi without any connecting link, so did a veil of the
most delicate beauty hang above severe reality, a veil unreal
itself but all the more magical. Timur, the most terrible con-
queror of his day, was also a refined assthetej it was a necessity
to him to be surrounded by exquisite charm; and this necessity
grew in strength in the case of his offspring. It is probably
impossible for men to produce so fairy-like an art as an ex-
pression of their being; they would have to be elves whose
souls corresponded to the Pearl Mosque. And probably the
artists of Hindustan performed the incredible here, because

2io INDIA PART m

they had to express dreams. These people were never alto-
gether realj they only possessed unusual gifts of imagination.
And imagination creates most freely in the fairy world.

No, this world is not foreign to me. This, of course, is not
only due to its meaning: even its single formations are familiar
to me, though I never saw most of them before. The more I
see and experience, the more clearly do I perceive how little
freedom man possesses in his mental creation. If he produces
new forms out of himself, this never means that he creates
unconditionally} he only gives the opportunity of complete
evolution, in obedience to its own pre-ordained law, to the
form from which he started — f or only God can create out of
nothing. Creative minds are only media, as parents are from
the point of view of the seed, whose development, once begun,
follows its own laws exclusively. In my early days I used to
smile at the art historians who love to trace the evolution of a
style to exterior circumstances j an article by Diderot, for in-
stance, is said to have exercised a decisive change upon French
painting. I said to myself: as if creative artists would be influ-
enced to such an extent by critics! As if an external factor
could ever be the cause of an inner change! As far as the facts
were concerned, I was right. Only I have realised since that
such theoretic conclusions, although false in themselves, are
nevertheless justified, because they present a scheme which
describes reality correctly. The growth and change of forms
are processes of such necessity that everything contributes to
their development, and for this reason its casual co-ordinates
may be chosen at random. Therefore, even if Diderot did not
really influence the artists, he nevertheless expressed, as a
critic, a tendency identical with the unconscious creative tend-
ency of the painters; and therefore, for the sake of simplicity,
one may say that Diderot was the originator. • Every direction
contains its immanent boundaries, every form hides within
itself the whole of its possible progeny, and for this reason it is
always possible in principle to reconstruct events as well as to
predict them. Without Richard Strauss there would never
have been Straussian music, but its idea has been 'derived'
from that of Richard Wagner (as Viktor Goldschmidt has

CHAP. 26 DELHI

211

already proved so well by mathematical means) so that Strauss5
originality, like that of any other creator, has only consisted
in realising actually and empirically what was an ideal neces-
sity. For this reason all philosophies seem matters of course
to the man who possesses their fundamental idea, and with
sufficient far-sightedness it ought even to be possible to con-
struct, by a fl-iori means, the philosophic convictions of every
epoch whose other elements are known. . . . The necessary
connection of all forms is revealed most plainly in the case of
the plastic arts, because here the formative laws manifest them-
selves most openly* Hence, on the one hand, the possibility
of any critical art history, on the other hand, the unique sig-
nificance of monuments of plastic art in the field of historical
determination. Since, however, all forms of expression are
necessary by nature, and reveal their origin unmistakably, it is
possible to understand a strange appearance directly from
within, if only it is connected with something familiar. This Is
what happened to me in reference to Mogul art. It originally
came from the West, or rather, from that union between East
and West, which characterises the Eastern Roman Empire,
and the latter*s formations are familiar to me* The later
development has taken place according to its proper laws and
can be surveyed at a glance. And since, moreover, a particular
meaning does not only produce necessarily corresponding
forms, but as the latter, conversely, affect the former, the
mere taking over of Byzantine means of expression has condi-
tioned an inner approach between West and East, thanks to
which the spirit of Delhi seems more dosely related to that of
Constantinople than to the spirit of Udaipun A German who
speaks and thinks French continually ultimately becomes
mentally a Frenchman; a man who has studied Kant for a
sufficient period eventually becomes, to a certain degree, his
descendant, no matter how much his original disposition may
have been opposed to that of Kant.

THIS world is familiar to me in a far wider sense than I
thought originally: Islamic culture is not strange to me as

212 INDIA PART m

suchj it is the expression of the same spirit which conditions
my own. The man who only knows Europe may well see
something foreign, Oriental,* in it} the Tarascon sees in Beau-
caire's inhabitants a special species with whom he has nothing
in common. When contrasted against the background of
India, the world of Islam seems hardly more differentiated
from the Christian world than the spirit of the Greek Orthodox
Church differs from the Catholic.

Jews, Christians and Mussulmans are brothers. Just as all
these three religions historically go back to Moses, so it is one
spirit which ultimately animates them from within. To-day
I see it clearly: it is a mistake to speak of Aryan as opposed to
Semitic culture, so far as any manifestations up to the present
are in question: no matter how much the Semite lacks the
Teutonic trait of transcendentalism, no matter how much the
latter characteristic makes the Teuton appear related to the
Indian, his inherited culture is of Mediterranean origin, and
the same can be said of Latin, Semitic and Turkish peoples.
The 'spirit' of antiquity and of the Near East, of Mosaism, of
Christianity, and of the Celto-Germanic people from the North,
in so far as they had become latinised, had been melted into a
collective being long before the days of Mahomet. Thus
Islam only signifies a special expression of that which is true
of all Occidentalism.

The comparison with Indian tradition and life makes me
realise very clearly what Occidentalism really consists of. It is
characterised by two things: its worldliness and the energy by
which it fashions appearance. This differentiates it radically
from that Orient^ which finds its extremest expression in
India* The consciousness of the Hindu is turned towards
Being; he therefore turns his back on appearance. If he de-
spises individuality, fails in the processes of this life, attaches
little ^ importance ^ to earthly success, scientific recognition,
tahnical mastery, if he strives towards Nirvana, seems extraor-
dinarily spiritualised, then all these things are so many ex-
pressions of his typical attitude to life. All Westerners-
Mohammedans always included— look in the opposite direc-
tion; their typical ideals find their extremest and, simultane-

CHAP. 26 DELHI

213

ously, their most pregnant expression in the Christian concept
of the infinite value of the human soul and the command-
ment to realise the kingdom of God upon earth. The Moham-
medans, as well as the Christians, perceive their real field
of activity in this life; the outlook of both js individualistic
in so far as they do not know of a super-individual reality
(which may, or may not, express itself further in real individu-
alism as we understand it to-day). Both are greater idealists,
as opposed to the Hindus, for only he who affirms the world
of appearances is capable of professing ideals within its realm.
On the other hand, both are more materialistically minded than
Hinduism, since they aim at the expression of ^significance/
not significance itself, which does not necessarily, but may very
easily, occasion materialism in its real sense. The Moham-
medans harbour, of all Westerners, the most materialistic
concepts; in the Islamic aspiration towards heaven, for in-
stance, there is no transcendentalism at all. But it cannot be
said that they are materialists as men; they are less so than
most of the Christians of to-day. Nor are they spiritual, but
they are idealists in the highest degree; the ideal of faith
stands high above all success for them. Only their ideal is
something static, something at rest; hence their lack of pro-
gressiveness which creates the semblance that they are more
closely related to the Indians than they are to us. Such a
semblance is deceptive, however, for their restf ulness is not that
of the passive, but that of the collected. It is our Western
energy, only represented as tension. Anyone who sees some-
thing un-Christian in this should call to mind the character of
Greek orthodox Christianity: the latter is surely more closely
related to the Islamic spirit than to that of the Methodists.
Yes, Islam is an expression, among others, of the Western
spirit; it is not closer to the Indian spirit than we are. And it
is immediately intelligible to the Christian. There is really
nothing strange to us in the mentality of the Mussulman.
Islam, of course, develops in India more and more towards the
Indian spirit; blood will out in the long run. With every new
religious leader, the mystic racial traits make themselves felt
more and more strongly, just as has happened in Persia long

214 INDIA PART ra

ago. Thus, on the other hand, Christianity becomes less and
less Semitic from century to century. It is becoming more
and more the vessel of purely Germanic aspiration towards
infinity. It is already true to say that the spirit which animates
the West is specifically different from that Mediterranean cul-
ture which was its cradle. This, however, does not prevent
the fact that all mature and perfected manifestations still
emanate absolutely from its spirit, and this spirit lies at the
bottom of all the manifestations of the West and the Near
East, beyond all racial opposition. Thus, the world of Islam,
regarded on Indian soil, provides a homely atmosphere for the
Westerner.

27
AGRA

COULD not have believed that there could fee anything like
it. A massive marble structure without weight, as if com-
posed of ether j perfectly rational and yet purely decorative}
without ascertainable content, and yet full of significance in
the highest degree: the Taj Mahal is not only one of the great-
est works of art, it is perhaps the greatest of all pieces of artifice
which the creative spirit of man has ever achieved. The maxi-
mum of perfection which seems to be attained here is beyond
every gauge of which I know, for partly perfected achieve-
ments in the same direction do not exist. Structures of similar
design are spread in dozens over the wide plain of Hindustan,
but not one of them lets us even suspect the synthesis which is
embodied in the foundation of Shah Dshehan. The others
are rationally devised buildings, with beautiful decorations
super-added j the reasonable element has its own effect, so has
the decorative, and we can judge the whole from the same
premises which apply to all architecture. The case of the Taj
Mahal is unmistakably one of a change of dimension. Here
the rational elements have been melted into the decorative,
which means that gravity, whose exploitation is the real prin-
ciple of all other architecture, has lost its weight j conversely,

CHAP. 27 AGRA

215

the decorative quality has been stripped of its arabesque-like
nature, for here the arabesques have assimilated all reason and
are possessed of the same mental significance which is usually
the privilege of the rational. Thus, the Taj Mahal seems, not
only beautiful, but simultaneously, strange as it may sound,
marvellously pretty 5 it is the rarest of jewels. It lacks, in spite
of perfect beauty, unrivalled loveliness and charm, all
grandeur. And now as to its meaning: as far as the ordinary

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It exhales neither intellectual sublimity, like the Parthenon, nor
composure and strength, like the typical Mohammedan build-
ings. Its forms have neither a spiritual background, like those
of Gothic cathedrals, nor an animalic, emotional one, like the
Drawidian Temples. The Taj Mahal is not even necessarily
a funeral monument: it might just as well, or just as badly, be
a pleasure resort, as every one will recognise who does not let
his unbiased vision be dulled by surrounding cypress trees
and the scores of usual accessories. It is, of course, very
pleasant to think that this structure is a monument of a hus-
band's faithful love, and that it bends above the pair reunited
in death. But the dead queen is by no means the soul of the
Taj Mahal. It has no soul, no meaning which could be de-
duced from anywhere. And yet, for this reason it represents
the most absolute work of art which architects have ever
erected.

Architecture is regarded as a fettered artj this is true in so
far as spiritual beauty can only be represented in it through
the medium of empirical appropriateness. That which seems
to be beautiful without being appropriate is, for that reason,
senseless and lacking in content — the arabesque is there ind
pleases us, but it means nothing* Hence the curious arfcago-
nism between the rational and decorative elements: in the case
of a perf ectly rational art, like that of the Greeks, the arabesque
seems superfluous; the less decoration and accessories, the
better. On the other hand, the decorative element necessarily
needs an object which gives meaning to it. It strikes us as
most substantial where it presupposes a life which corresponds

2i6 INDIA PART ni

with it, as in the palaces of Italy and India; the more inde-
pendent significance it assumes, the emptier and more mean-
ingless does it appear. In the case of the Taj Mahal the
spirit does not seem fettered by matter, and the decorative
elements do not seem empty of inner content; this building
is absolutely purposeless, in spite of perfect rationality, and
perfectly substantial in spite of its arabesque character. It
belongs to a special sphere. And in it the usual categories do
not apply. Here the decorative elements have as much inner
meaning as beauty embodied appropriately has everywhere
elsej the rational side of the Taj seems no prof ounder than its
glamour. The Taj Mahal is probably the most absolute work
of art which exists; it is so exclusive that its soul, like its body,
has no windows. We can only suspect and honour this soiil,
for in reality no way leads to it.

And what is it which conditions its unique quality? It is the
accumulated effect of many details; it is the existence of shades
which we would never credit with the capacity for signifying so
much. The general plan of the Taj Mahal is shared by hun-
dreds of Indian mausoleums, whose effect is perfectly indiffer-
ent; its chromatics have been imitated a hundred times, with
no better result than that the buildings thus decorated give the
impression of a wedding cake. Let us transpose ever so slightly
the proportions, or change its dimensions by an iota, or use a
different material; or place the Taj Mahal, as it is, into another
region which is subject to different conditions of air, damp and
light: it would be the Taj Mahal no longer. I have seen the
same white marble used for mosques not a hundred miles
distant from Agra: it lacks the enamel-like quality of the Taj
Mahal. This work of art makes particularly dear what the
nature of individuality really is. No matter how many causes
and relations we establish: the essential escapes us; if some
apparently insignificant circumstance disappears, the nature of
the object seems immediately transformed. This says little
in favour of the metaphysical reality of the individual; how
could anything be metaphysically real which is manif estly so
dependent upon empirical drcumstances? It proves, on the
other hand, however, the absolute nature of the phenomenon.

CHAP. 27 AGRA 2x7

This is intrinsically unique, not to be traced to anything else
or anything external. And sometimes, when I am in a platonic
mood, I incline to the belief that phenomena may thus far
participate of metaphysical reality. A certain aspect of the
eternal spirit can only become visible subject to special empiric
conditions. These conditions, as such, are not intrinsic, and
they exhaust the individual elements. The spirit, however,
which animates the phenomenon exists in itself, no matter
whether or how it is expressed. Thus the original image of the
Taj Mahal may have decorated from eternity the world of
ideas.

is it because Italian architects are partially responsible for
the marvel of the Taj Mahal that my thoughts travel to distant
Italy? Or is it because of the Renaissance-like character of
the Mogul culture? — the latter is the reason. This culture
really means the same as the Rinascimento in Italy from the
fifteenth to the seventeenth century.

That is to say, it offers us an equally great riddle. I have
never been able to understand how intelligent people caa
pretend to having understood the Renaissance on discovering
that it may be traced bade to its new relation to classical an-
tiquity. How is it that this new relation had such immense
consequences — why only then (for this connection was never
broken altogether), why only for a few centuries and never
again? How is it that the Italians were capable of greatness
only at that time? Biologically they are the same to-dayj they
have not deteriorated in the least 5 it is still true, as Alfieri
asserts, that man, the plant, flourishes nowhere upon earth
better than in Italy. The Italians of to-day are just as gifted
artistically as their ancestors: why were they only great in the
age of the Renaissance? At that time obviously a ^spirit* came
over them, just as it did during the time of the great Mogul
emperors over the artists of India. The empirical constella-
tions were of such a kind that they were capable of serving a
^spirit* as a means of expression.

What that means I do not know myself 5 I have struggled

INDIA PART m

with the problem for years. But the facts are beyond ques-
tion: the great periods of culture, like that of the Renaissance,
cannot be explained altogether out of the demonstrable series
of causes* They differ qualitatively from that which preceded
or succeeded them. They owe their existence ultimately to a
spiritual influx which bears unmistakably the stamp of divine
grace. Such grace incidentally transmutes all nature. Once
its source, however, has dried up, no effort and no talent is of
any avail. Since the height of the Renaissance, artistic culture
has declined in Italy, in spite of all the geniuses who have been
born there again and again, and to-day the Italians probably
possess less creative taste than any other people, although they
are still artistically the most gifted. What does that mean? —
I do not know, but since I have seen the Taj Mahal, all kinds
of curious thoughts flit through my mind concerning the rela-
tion of appearance and meaning. A small change of empirical
drcumstances, and the Taj Mahal would not be the marvel
which it is. It is quite possible to find the right ones by acci-
dent. An insignificant change in the choice of words or syntax
transforms a triviality into a profound saying, and vice versa j
a line drawn by accident, a patch of colour placed at random
upon the canvas, gives to the picture an inimitable expression.
And this expression is really the essential, that upon which the
whole value of the Gioconda, for instance, depends. Is it
possible that there is a secret connection between spiritual
necessity and empirical accident? So that, when a genius arises
on earth, when he enters upon history at a given time, when
he draws a certain line at random, it corresponds perhaps to a
necessity in the eyes of God? — I know nothing definite, no
matter how much I guess. But the marvels of Renaissance
and Mogul art are explicable only by the direct manifestation
of an independent Significance.'

I UNDERSTAND very well that most Europeans regard the
residences of the Mogul emperors as the most noteworthy
sights in the whole of India; for most of them are only inter-
ested in that which has a direct relation to their person* This

CHAP. 27 AGRA 219

world is immediately intelligible, one can feel at home in itj it
is, moreover, more charming than most others. I, however,
feel drawn away from it. What am I to do in the midst of
these treasures? Their contemplation does not stimulate me,
their spirit is too closely related to me for that. And this art
is too great to be lived with. It would disturb me whatever I
did. In the same way, I could not live in Florence, where the
perfected spirit of the Quattrocento discourages all the aspira-
tions of the Novecento. But I do visit Florence again and
again, and each time I like it better than before, because there
visible beauty signifies the flower of Spirit, and means pre-
cisely the same as the platonising philosophy of the same age.
When I regard the belfry of Giotto, the same quality of Reason
is manifested to me as found abstract expression in humanism,
.and when I enter the Media chapel, I feel the presence of a
genius who, in different circumstances, might have created the
world. In Florence all art has a profound metaphysical signifi-
cance, which permeates its remotest outrunners. Indiaa and
Mohammedan art, however, lacks such meaning. Therefore
it cannot give anything to my soul.

The more art I see which is nothing but art, the more con-
scious am I of my peculiar disposition which allows me to
appreciate art only as the immediate expression of metaphysical
reality. For that reason truly great art means more to me than
to the majority of its admirers, but I cannot do justice to small
art, and many a masterpiece appears to me as such. Especially
the purely decorative leaves me cold. The gracefulness, the
charm of an arabesque has no prof ounder direct bad^ixHind
than the choice taste of its inventor} and I do not know in what
way it should concern me that a certain individual fed taste.
This, of course, only proves my limitations, not the lack of
value of decorative art. Undoubtedly its character is super-
ficial, and it is ridiculous to compare Sansovino with Michael
Angelo* But it is not only profundity which has a right to
existence. Generally, I know well enough how to appreciate
superficiality, only I am not able to do so in the case of art,
and this proves that I lad: certain organs. It proves, above
all, lack of culture. The explanation is not far to seek: possibly

220 INDIA PART HI

nowhere in Europe is there such an inartistic atmosphere as in
my homej thus I lack the nursery thanks to which Florentines
in a similar position to myself possess taste and delight in
semblance as a matter of course. It is in this case, as with all
other advantages of birth: the advantage which it bestows is
an absolute advantage, .which can only be made up for by
productive talent. — I am therefore glad that I shall shortly be
in Benares. There I shall be more in my element.

28
BENARES

When Brahma weighed the sky with its gods against Kashi (Benares),
Kashi, being the heavier, sank down to earth.
The sty, being the lighter, soared upward.

A GAIN and again I must think of these verses from Shan-
X\karacharya's Manikaniikastotram, for the breath of divine
presence hangs over the Ganges more mightily than I have
ever felt it anywhere else. Especially in the morning, when
the faithful cover the ghats in thousands, when their prayers
flow in golden waves towards the rising sun, and significance
manifests itself in the form of the most delicately sensuous
beauty, the whole atmosphere seems to be divinely transfused.
How good it is that the Indians have revered this site as a sanc-
tuary for thousands of years: thus, thanks to the miraculous
power of faith, it has truly become a holy place. Benares is
dedicated to Shiva, the black-necked Godj but it is not
dedicated to him as a person, but as one aspect of the super-
personal Brahma, who excludes nothing and conditions every-
thing. Thus the whole of India makes its pilgrimage to
Benares irrespective of sects. And thus the whole of humanity
could congregate here, The slender mosque of Aurang-Zeebs,
the fanatical Moslem, is not disturbing in its effect in the midst
of the Hindu temples. And when, borne by the winds from
the distant cantonments, the echo of a hymn hung over the
Ganges, I felt as if it too belonged here*

CHAP.28 BENARES 221

Benares is holy. Europe, grown superficial, hardly under-
stands such truths any more. Before long no one will under-
take a pilgrimage, and sooner or later, only too soon, Christian-
ity will stand there without holy places. How poor it will get
in the process! It is meaningless to ask whether a place is
'really* holy: if it is regarded as holy for a sufficiently long
period, then Divinity inevitably takes up residence there. The
pilgrim who enters in at such a place finds it remarkably easy
to remain in a reverential mood, and this mood widens him
and makes him more profound. Of course, it would represent
the highest pinnacle if men could feel the presence of God
everywhere, independent of external means* But hardly one
man out of a million is capable of doing this. It is not every
year that a child is born who can say, like Jesus: I have, like
my father, all life within me; whose spontaneity is so great and
so absolute that it requires no awakening. The rule is here
what it is everywhere — in art, philosophy and morals — that
men only experience in themselves what has been shown them
externally, or else what indirect stimulus calls forth in them
by reflex action. If it were different, not only would places of
pilgrimage be superfluous, but there would be no cause to
honour great men in gratitude. — For why should we reverence
them if they did not give us something which, without them,
we should lack? Most of us require stimulus in order to enter
into communication with the Highest; where stimulus is
wanting, men lose their at-one-ment with God. Such stimulus
is supplied for our daily life by the study of holy writ, the par-
ticipation in a cult. But the routine of daily life cannot do
more than preserve the normal process of growth^ and obvi-
ate retrogression; extraordinary experiences alone affect men,
these creatures of habit; only strange impressions act on them
as quickening influences which can raise them suddenly to a
higher level. For this reason all religions have instituted
holidays; they have advised intercourse with holy men, and
recommended pilgrimages in particular. In the case of the
pilgrimages all factors contribute to set the strings of the soul
in motion and to make their vibrations continue. The change
of locality makes men forget their accustomed surroundings;

222

INDIA PART m

for the time by keeping the goal of the journey constantly
in the mind's eye, derogatory memories are excluded from
consciousness} imagination, finally, increases the possible
influence of the holy place to such a degree that the soul sur-
renders itself with the utmost receptivity to that which is
actually present. But it is not only this subjective quality
which conditions the beneficial effect of holy places: they
become objectively sanctified through the accumulation of
religious thought-forms of its visitors. These thought-forms
produce in the end an atmosphere which takes possession even
of men who journey there in an unholy mood. And this
blessed power grows with the passage of time. They become
gradually real sources of Divine Grace. He who measures a
time-honoured pilgrim's road in a devotional attitude may
easily find at the end that, from the spiritual point of view, he
has progressed farther than years of inner struggle would have
brought him. India is intersected in all directions by pilgrims'
roadsj it is strewn with holy places} again and again the wan-
derer, in ever new and therefore stimulating forms, is reminded
of the presence of God. But nowhere so powerfully as on the
Ganges. This holiest of rivers rises in Shiva's paradise, in the
snowy Kailas in the Himalayas. He who gets there is bodily
in the presence of God. Then it flows through densest moun-
tainous woods in which Munis and Rishis dwell, supermen,
Jivanmuktas, for whom life and death are onej he who pene-
trates to them is sometimes accepted as their disciple. And
progressing in its southward course, from the sunburnt Pun-
jab to the fruitful plain of Bengal, the river sanctifies site upon
site. No one has ever climbed up to the Kailas 5 few have
ever reached the Mahatmas; but Benares can be approached
by each and all* Thus this town is the focus of all the religious
thoughts which are connected with the Ganges, and this fact
bestows its unique sanctifying power upon it.

What is the explanation of this 'psychic atmosphere/ which
is manifestly real in the objective sense, and whose existence I
fed more dearly the longer I live? I do not know. I assume
that it is a question of waves belonging to an 'ether3 which
hardly corresponds to that of the physicist, but which are

CHAP.28 BENARES 223

nevertheless vibrations of a material kind, No doubt thoughts
are just as much 'things' as the objects of the external world,
no less real and probably more enduring than we suppose. The
spirit of aa age is an entity no less objective than the physical
air. If mental images were not material, they could not be
infectious. I do not know, either, how else I could sense a
psychic atmosphere directly, how else I could be influenced so
strongly by the place in which I happen to be, and be affected
differently in accordance with the beings who constantly live,
or have lived, there. Only he can doubt the reality of psychic
atmosphere whose senses are too blunt to feel it* Its theory
has never yet been written down* The only coherent attempt
of which I know originates from the old Indians: I mean the
obscure teachings of the Tattvaa,1

IT is glorious when the sun rises a!x>ve the horizon, and the
faithful on the ghats bend towards the giver of life in their
thousands in one single gesture of adoration* Hinduism has
no sun-godj that which is material, he has never honoured
as spirit. But Hinduism commands to pray before the sua
because it is the foremost physical manifestation of Divine
creative power. What would man be without sun? He would
not exist at all; the whole of his being is sun-produced, sun-
born, supported by the sun, and withers when the mainspring
of life turns away*

The more I advance in recognition, the more do I profess
sun-worship myself. During those terrible months whea the
sun only throws a hasty, disdainful greeting upon Esthouta, in
order to turn rapidly, as if after the execution of aa unpleasant
duty, to more beloved latitudes, the curve of my life dedioes
every time. My body feels ill, my vitality decreases, my soul
loses in tension. And conversely, the periods of my highest
creative power always coincide with the longest days. But
what is the hottest sun which is known in the north compared
with that of India! A smouldering candle-light The sun of

iSee, as to this, the booklet, No**** Finer Forces (Loodoo, 1907, Tfeeo-
sopfefcal PiMshing Society), by Prama PrasaA

224 INDIA PART m

India is an object of fear for many: I feel inclined, like the
pilgrims on the Ganges, to sink down every morning before
it in fervent gratitude, for it is immeasurable what it gives me.
I feel nearer here than I have ever done to the heart of the
worldj here I feel every day as if soon, perhaps even to-day, I
would receive the grace of supreme revelation. I am no longer
surprised that the deepest wisdom comes from the East: it
comes from the proximity of the sun. All manifestation is
physical; the spirit is revealed there where there is the force
to express it, and all force is material and derives ultimately
from the sun. The sun of India does not encourage thinking,
any more than any other conscious actionj its power here is too
great to express itself by means of the weak wills of human
beings. Its effect is direct, both for good and evil. Thus it
kills the over-inquisitive brain which exposes itself too long to
its rays. Thus, too, it illumines, suddenly and without media-
tion, the humbly receptive mind. Such a mind, which no
amount of thinking could have made lucid in the North, here
becomes dear at once. This is due to the circumstance, that
the fundamental forces of being become quickened, and enter
the centre of self-consciousness. Metaphysical recognition is
nothing else but this becoming-conscious of the prof oundest
elements of being. As a rule these are overlaid with the thou-
sand instincts and impulses which constitute the superficial
play of life, in direct proportion to the distance from the source.
Thus the European is, on the one hand, more active, and, on
the other, more superficial than the Indian. The latter dislikes
action, his reflective thought is usually imperfect, and his
kinetic energy is small: all surfaces are singed by the sun. But
the same sun gives to what is unsingeable such power of light-
ing up the darkness, that it becomes evident to the poorest
consciousness.

Is what I am writing down here correct? Considerations of
this kind are never 'correct,* but their significance may be true,
and that is more. Thus, all sun-worshippers are right before
God, For the man who believes in myths, there are no facts in
our sensej he knows nothing of the sun of the physicist. He
prays before what he feels as the immediate source of his life.

CHAP.28 BENARES 225

The man of later days, whose emancipated intellect rases the
question of correctness in the first instance, must, of course,
deny sun-worship j for him there is only the fact of astronomy,
and this is undoubtedly no divinity. The spiritualised being
does justice once more to the ancient faith. He recognises in
it a beautiful form of expression of a true consciousness of
God. He knows that all truth is ultimately symbolic, and that
the sun expresses the nature of divinity more appropriately
than the best conceptual expression.

THE atmosphere of devotion which hangs above the river is
improbable in its strength: stronger than in any church that I
have ever visited. Every would-be Christian priest would do
well to sacrifice a year of his theological studies in order to
spend this time on the Ganges: here he would discover what
piety means. For in Europe all that exists is its remote reflec-
tion* What European can still pray fervently? Who knows
that concentrated devotion which is sufficient unto itself, which
needs no institutions, and eliminates automatically the influence
of disturbing surroundings? Hardly one among a milling*
those who believe they are most pious are generally least pious
in reality} they regard faith as identical with believmg-to-be-
true, and prayer as synonymous with begging, which proves
that they have no idea of profound devoutness. Not the
simplest Hindu seems to be guilty of such fundamental mis-
conceptions. No Hindu regards faith as beHeving-to-be-true,
for the question of the existence of gods and goddesses is
never raised, no matter how many he reveres. And not one of
them regards his prayer as a petition. He knows that begging
is never sacred, not even when it is done for others, because
ultimately it always means egoism. Prayer as a sacrament is an
expression of what appears also in sacrifice, in the praise of
God, in cults, hymns, and best of all in silent meditation: the
opening of the consciousness to the influences which are await-
ing liberation in the innermost depths of the soul, which,
when liberated, connect the spirit directly with God. The
means in themselves are indifferent The Hindu knows this,

226 INDIA PART in

and this knowledge imparts the same sacramental nature to
all the manifestations of his religiosity, be they spiritualised
or naive. Whence has he got this knowledge? From his
nursery. The first thing which an Indian mother teaches her
child is the art of meditation, the submersion at will into the
highest which it can conceive. Once it has learned this art,
then it does not require any exterior apparatus, no church
atmosphere, no belief in dogma, no seclusion to enter into
communication with God. And thus, you can see children on
the Ganges in the midst of the noise, the traffic, in spite of all
the foreigners who stare at them stupidly as they pass by,
fervently absorbed in their divinity, imperturbable and calm
when the hour of prayer has come. And the art which the
child has acquired, the grown-up learns slowly to understand,
if not with his intellect, at any rate with his heart. He knows
from experience what matters; he knows the exaltation which
is produced by the liberation of the fundamental forces of life j
thus he cannot, like most modern Christians, mistake the means
for the end. All the less so, as the whole of his education
was directed towards teaching him how to differentiate between
the essential and the inessential. His mother, who taught him
to breathe and to meditate, left him completely free in the
choice of his spiritual teacher. If he had become the disciple
of one who in his particular profession differed as far from
that of his mother as a Lutheran from a Catholic, she would
not have attempted to restrain him: for among Indians^ it
is regarded as a deadly sin to use force in influencing the faith
of another, because every one is a particularised being and
must therefore undertake his pilgrimage to God along a path
appropriate to him, and him alone. And in the same sense the
Brahmins taught him how to advance in knowledge, in so far
as he really wanted to know and seemed capable of under-
standing. They told him that in reality there is only one God,
that the many gods are his manifestations, real only in so far
as they facilitate realisation for manj for God in Himself can-
not be imaginedj he who has progressed sufficiently far within
himself could dispense with all ritual. And thus he will also
have met wise men here and there who stood outside all com-

CHAPES BENARES 227

munities professing any cult. — How could the Hindu not
know what matters? How could be become half-hearted if
he has once experienced the blessedness of religious realisation?
In Western Europe, which in the Middle Ages resembled
India so much, real devotion is hardly to be met with to-day
except in out-of-the-way corners, in which the spirit of bygone
centuries still dominates. Only in Russia do we know it as a
normal phenomenon. In fact, I have, since I have been in
India, had to think of the Russian people more than once.
Their attitude to the world is singularly like that of the Hindu:
equally all-understanding, equally all-brotherly, equally un-
practical. And their religiousness, above all, is strangely
similar. I am sure that there was nothing but a difference of
dogma between many of the pilgrims whom I have seen, on the
one hand, on the shores of the Ganges, and on the other, in the
Ssergievskaja Lawra. Not only the same fervour, but the same
quality of fervour, inflamed their hearts both here and there.
Yes, Russia — the Russia of the simple peasant— is to-day
probably the only province of Christendom which is near to
God.

Near to God, at any rate so far as the heart, the Bhakti Yog%
is in question. The heart, no matter what they say, is only
poorly developed in the Westerner. We imagine, because we
have professed for one and a half thousand years a religion of
love, that for this reason love animates us. That is not true.
Our excessively active nature has immediately translated the
inspiration which came from the East into action, into forms
of life, ways of lif e, institutions, so that more love is expressed
in them than in any known to the Eastj but the heart as such
appears empty. The soul of the European is poor in feeling
in the same proportion as it creates in the spirit of noble fad-
ings. It does not seem possible to hold fast a spirit as such, and
to embody it in external organs. How meagre is the effect of
Thomas a Kempis by the side of Ramakrishna! How poor
is the highest European Bhakti beside that, for instance, of the
Persian mystics. Western feeling is stronger than that of the
East in so far as it possesses more kinetic energyj but it is not
nearly so rich, so delicate or so differentiated. San Juan de la

228 INDIA PART in

Cruz often appears obscene in spite of the most real love of
God, because his coarse Spanish soul was^ incapable of more
delicate expressions Francis of Assisi, in spite of his sweetness,
was more of a force of nature than a transfigured spirit. It is
really high time to give up the superstition that Christianity
has a monopoly of love. It stands supreme so far as work in
the sense of love is in question, but love itself, as an experience,
is less known to Christianity than to the gentler humanity of
Hindustan. I now understand well why the cultured Hindu
regards the hearts of Europeans as coarse: they are coarse,
there can be no doubt of it. And they will^ hardly ever be
capable of real Bhakti: our development tends in another direc-
tion. We are becoming less and less devotional. One should
not be led astray by the new devotionalism which predominates
in many religious communities of the West, especially that of
the Theosophical Society inspired by India: it will always only
be congenial to a minority even among women* And this
minority will be reduced in the same proportion as the con-
sciousness of her real soul becomes clearer to Western human-
ity* Here, as everywhere else, the given natural disposition
sets a boundary whose transgression succeeds only in appear-
ance. In order to be pious in the Indian sense one has either
to be born an Indian or a Russian. One must have a need for
devotion in one's blood} the capacity for reverence has to be
developed very highly. The soul must long to surrender itself,
to renounce self -mil, to experience passively; it must be femi-
nine in form. The best souls of Europeans are not like thatj
they are masculine in the extreme. Thus, the want of piety
of the European, his crude misunderstanding of the meaning
of faith and prayer, is based ultimately upon the fact that
Bhakti Yoga does not imply the road which leads him most
surely to his God.

I SPEND many hours every day in the labyrinth of streets
which link temple to temple, and which in themselves are
thickly strewn with shrines and altars. No Christian place of
pilgrimage has as many 'stations* as Benares. And in almost

>8 BENARES 229

every one of them the divinity is honoured in a special form
and from a specific aspect. Most attention is, of course, paid to
the idols, which are calculated to suit the poor man's power of
understandingj thus, even in Benares, the town of Shiva,
Ganesha, the elephant-headed protector of earthly success, re-
ceives the richest sacrifices. The educated do not object to
this j their philosophy approves and encourages every form of
devotion. Their view teaches that all concepts of faith have
the sole object of giving an aid to men to become conscious of
their deepest selves. The simpler and coarser a man is, the
cruder and less spiritual must be the images which are proffered
to his attention, for more subtle ones would fail of their aim
in his case. It cannot be expected of the peasant that he enter
into direct relation with Brahma. The peasant is to pray quite
happily to the gods whose images were created by the uncul-
tured imagination of the people, for as long as he believes,
as long as the object of his veneration really holds fast the
attention of his soul, this object does for him precisely what
the contemplation of the absolute does for the Rishi and the
Muni. There are, moreover, not many who really kaowj not
many who are truly beyond the sphere in which discipline
and traditional cults are advisable. The point is to realise God
truly, not merely to imagine that one does so: who has gone
so far as to be able to do this without cname and form'?
Shankara had not got so far, nor had Ramanuja, otherwise
they would not have sacrificed so assiduously; both remained
faithful to the time-honoured forms of faith j they declined
to invent new forms apparently more appropriate to their
philosophies, for they had found that mental images, which
are inherited or learnt in childhood, are the vessels into which
the Holy Ghost enters most readily. And Ramakrislu^ the
gentle saint of Dakshinesvar, of whom it is said that he was
a Jivanmukta, beyond all earthly fetters, who therefore knew,
better than anyone else could know, what was necessary and
what was superfluous, had impressed upon^ his people only
recently that they were to practise according to ritual, as
revelation simply could not be attained without spiritual ex-
erases (without Sadhana) and that the traditional ritual was by

230

INDIA PART HI

far the most effective. — As a matter of fact, all cultured
Hindus whom I have met believe genuinely in their gods
(which, of course, does not prevent them as philosophers from
subscribing sometimes to a belief in Advaita, sometimes in
Visishtadvaita) ; they all practise their faith. They did not
attend the primitive rites of which the main body of Hindu-
istic cult-practices consist, but they all participated in some kind
of ritual.

The spirit of Hinduism, regarded as a cohesion of religious
ideas and forms, is identical with that of Catholicism; only
the spirit seems, in the case of the former, to be more intel-
lectualised. The practical regulations which are prescribed to
the faithful of both religions have the same significance every-
where, they are equally wise, equally profound psychologically,
equally to the purpose. Only the Hindus have understood the
same thing in a better way. Thus, the Catholic Church recom-
mends the veneration of saints because the saints are really
supposed to abide in heaven, really act as advocates before God,
who is believed to have arranged that we are not to approach
Him directly, but to address ourselves to the appropriate in-
termediaries j the Indians know that the devotion to specified
divinities is advisable, because it is too difficult for men to
realise divinity as such, because realisation is the one and only
thing on which everything depends, and because a specific form
appropriate to specific aspirations is most beneficial. Catholicism
as well as Hinduism worships images; but whereas in prac-
tice it is only too often a question of real fetishism, idol-
worship in its crudest form for the Catholic, every Hindu
knows (or can know it at any rate) that the value of images
depends solely on the fact that they help to concentrate the
attention of the praying individual it is impossible for most
people to concentrate their souls except in reference to a visible
object, and so forth. In the Catholic Church the profound
doctrines^ of antiquity continue to exist in a misrepresented
form; within Hinduism they are generally interpreted cor-
rectly. So far as the principle is in question, this is the only
difference between the two religions*

The Indian philosophy of religion and ritual is a rich store-

CHAPES BENARES

23*

house of psychological and metaphysical wisdom. It contains
real treasures of recognition which, when they have been un-
earthed and sifted, will in all probability modify the scientific
concept of psychic reality. For the Indians have been great
simultaneously in two directions, which among Westerners
generally preclude each other: in faith and in understanding
of faith. Notwithstanding their sense for form and its possi-
bility of effectiveness, they have judged their objective signifi-
cance correctly on the whole. In this connection the one fact is
already highly significant, that the Indians, who have gone
further in self -recognition than any other men, whose con-
sciousness has freed itself to an incredible degree from the en-
tangled fetters of names and forms, have always been Catholic
in practice j all the greatest Indian philosophers, like Rainanuja,
Shankaracharia — I have said it already — practised just like
Thomas Aquinas. There have, of course, been reformers with
Protestant tendencies among Indians, as everywhere else, as,
for instance, Buddha, the Gurus of the 3khs> and lately the
founders of Brahmo-Samaj. But to begin with, not one of
them has gone as far as Luther did among us, and then they
were never able to conquer the Hindu spirit on a great scale;
they never became popular. Buddhism disappeared from
India as soon as it lost the external support of regal power, and
the other Protestant religions have all remained limited sects*
What does this mean? It means that, in the view of the
Hindus, Catholicism embodies a system of mental hygiene
which could not conceivably have been improved uponj that,
whatever the ultimate meaning of religion may be, the Catholic
form conduces best to its realisation. The most essential tech-
nical feature of all Protestant reforms is that they have simpli-
fied the apparatus which serves spiritual progress. Whereas
Catholicism employs every means which seems calculated to
stimulate religious feeling, Protestantism sanctions only a few
and impresses upon the soul to enter into relation with God,
in all simplicity and candour, without external assistance. This
would be all very well if communion with God could be at-
tained by the less drcuitous route with the same degree of
perfection* This is the point on whkfa the Hindus differ.

232 INDIA PART ni

According to their experience, only the highest man has the
inner right to choose the path of Protestantism, for he alone
can hope to find God in seeking him in his own way. The
others do not find him. For them it is better to avail them-
selves of the whole apparatus of assistance which the wisdom of
generations has developed, and to travel along the broad road
which it has marked out for all.

It would be mistaken to put the question as to whether the
Hindus are absolutely right in their attitude: undoubtedly they
are right for themselves* The roads of Catholicism and
Protestantism both lead to God, but each one of them is appro-
priate to special natures. Anyone who becomes conscious of
a significance best by entering, mind and heart, into an objec-
tive form and then letting it fashion his soul, is Catholic by
nature, no matter what profession he may avow da facto. And
similarly, a man is essentially a Protestant who approaches
form from its significance. As far as advancement in the
world, including scientific recognition, is concerned, it can be
said that, objectively, the Protestant attitude is more suited to
this purpose. On the other hand, the Catholic attitude implies
an absolute advantage where the desired aim is the realisation
of God in contemplation* This contemplative realisation is
not the only possible form of religious experience 5 he who does
not wish to behold the Kingdom of God, but to realise it upon
earth, is better off with the soul of a Protestant. The Catholic
has no call to transformation, his natural attitude is not pro-
gressive. But it falls to his lot more readily to behold God.
Therefore, it cannot but be that the Indian people who are
solely concerned with recognition, who are absolutely indiffer-
ent to practical questions, who are contemplative in the highest
degree, also think and feel to an extreme degree in a Catholic
way. For it is a great mistake, no matter how often it is taught,
to believe that Protestantism has made religious recognition
more profound; the reverse is true. It has made action in the
religious sense more profound, but it has not benefited recog-
nition, because the Protestant consciousness, which is directed
to externals, turns its back upon the influx of the divine. One
cannot think out one's God, one must accept Himj He comes

CHAP.aS BENARES

233

upon us, one does not create Him from within oneself j He
reveals Himself according to His divine will, not as we wish.
Thus^the man who strives after personal expression, whose
mind is^ intent upon inventing new forms, is at a disadvantage
in religious recognition as opposed to the believer in authority
with a receptive mind and soul. It may be objected that pre-
cisely Luther was receptive} that just he had placed faith and
humility high above all desire of knowledge. Quite soj in
many essential directions he personally remained, up to the
end, what I call Catholic. But the principle whose victory he
brought about is inimical to humility and faithj the real spirit
of Protestantism does not appear to-day in the Lutheran
Church, but in critical science. If it were otherwise, then the
religious Protestant communities would not suffer all the
world over from inner decay, and Lutheranism in particular
would not show already all the symptoms of a fatal illness.
The choice is: either believing or free determination; either
being a Catholic or a Protestant And he who is intent upon
beholding God will always choose the first alternative. All
the mystics of the world were Catholics in their atdtudej all
contemplative natures are of a Catholic trend of mind. All
great religious revelations have been given to spirits of Catholk
tendency, and it will be like that for all time to come.

Of course, I do not wish to assert that any existing Catholic
system will subsist permanently.1 During these days, in which
I have witnessed so many cults, I have become more conscious
than ever how much the development of humanity tends away
from ritualism} magic loses more and more in meaning and
purpose. To this extent the world tends undoubtedly towards
Protestantism. Fewer and fewer cultured Hindus follow the
prescriptions of the Tantras accurately^ the Catholic Church
lays less and less stress upon the help we are to find in ritual*
Apparently it is less and less effective. Ever since the
eighteenth century Catholicism in Europe does not achieve
what, theoretically, it could and should achieve, and it seeins

1 1 have treated exhaustively the problem of the future of Catholicism, and,
in part, that of Christianity in my two lecttrres entitled *We&an9chatiang taid
Lebensgestaltung,* published in the Year-book of the Scfaool of Wisdom, der
Leuchter, 1924 (Darmstadt, Otto fieichl Verlag).

234 INDIA PARTJII

to-day as if its profession did more harm than good in general.
Why? The explanation is surely not that the Tantras do not
embody anything but superstition, that ^what was always the
case is only being recognised now, nor is the position, as the
theosophists assert, that modern humanity is forfeiting one of
the most important means to salvation} and it is quite cer-
tain that the cessation of belief in magic as such does not cover
the ultimate cause of the situation. I personally am convinced
that the teachings of the Tantras are correct on the whole, and
that it is nevertheless in order that they meet with less and less
observance. Magic can only be effective where consciousness
is in a certain position j this position can only be maintained
in a certain equilibrium of psychic forces, in which ^ critical
intelligence does not disturb the creations of imagination and
faith. Where this necessary equilibrium exists, magic is, of
course, efficacious; and in those cases Tantric ceremonies often
imply the safest means to inner progress. * But where this
equilibrium is disturbed, their effect is nil. ^ And it is disturbed
in the whole of humanity more and more, in the sense that the
intellect outweighs imagination- This induces ^progress every-
where where mastery of the external world is in question j but
it involves simultaneously losing out of sight another side of
reality. The man who is beyond the Tantra stage is superior
to many influences of the psychic sphere which are often dis-
turbing, but he also misses their positive qualities. ' Supreme
self-realisation is within reach of the one as much as the other j
he is, moreover, much better fitted to understand it. Whereas
the Tantrika generally interprets real experiences in the light
of absurd theories, the man of clear understanding is in a
position to interpret objectively and correctly. But he is aware
of it much more rarely. There is no doubt that the soul of the
Tantrika is open to influences which do not react upon any
other condition of consciousness at all} and no doubt the proc-
ess of growing beyond this state implies a loss. We Euro-
peans with our clear intellect do not experience a great deal of
that which the superstitious Hindu experiences. And in all
probability the condition of our souls does not only preclude
us from many unimportant experiences, but also from some of

CHAP.28 BENARES 235

the highest of which the human soul is capable. This, at any
rate, is the only way in which I am able to account for the fact
that the highest revelations came from spirits who in many
ways were not only simple but also undeveloped, immature,
inadequate, uncritical and as unreasonable as children.

Hinduism, of course, excels even the wisest Christian Ca-
tholicism a hundredfold in psychological insight. I do not know
any condition of the soul to which it would not do justice from
the point of view of its own possibilities. Blessed are the
people whose prophets and spiritual teachers were sages!
Those of Christianity were anything but that} they were deeply
entangled in 'name and form'} no matter how open-hearted
their doctrines, they excluded without exception the greatest
portion of the human race from salvation. This had to be so,
since their teachings were particularised doctrinesj since they
saw the substance of truth in a specialised form of belief. This
error of all errors is foreign to Hinduism j the Indians are
beyond the stage where any manifestation can be taken seri-
ously from the metaphysical standpoint} they know that all
dogmatic professions can be appraised only according to the
gauge of pragmatism. Absolute truth must, of course, assume
a shape if it is to be made manifest to menj they lack the organ
with which to perceive the absolute as such. But this form
always originates from man, and is an earthly vessel which, in
the most favourable circumstances, is completely filled by the
divine spirit. How could it be possible otherwise to deduce the
actual facts of all concrete religions, historically and psycho-
logically? How is it conceivable otherwise that all the visions
which appeared to divinely inspired saints, correspond to the
ideas of the Church to which they belonged? The Divine re-
veals itself everywhere to men within the framework of their

* . • i * . J ? ^ _ _ TV* _._ ^-1_^_ -_—_ — —.—. U .*. .uuv x* I_AM «1«. **M *•» /A *v»y*»'^«« w a /"I

Krishna-worshipper was to remain faithful to Krishna, the
Vaishnava to Vishnu, the Christian to Christ. New ideas were
never rooted so firmly as inherited ones, and couM therefore
never offer an equally good means of materialisation to the
Holy Spirit. And thus this man who in a state of ecstatic

236 INDIA PART HI

rapture had long ago become one with Parabrahma, remained
in his normal condition a worshipper of Kali, the maternal
aspect of Divinity.

It is indeed wonderful to what a degree the Vweka> the
power of differentiating in matters of religion, has been de-
veloped among the Indians. Among cultured individuals there
is no conception that I know of whose rational elements they
do not understand. Here there is no Credo qwa absurdum,
incomprehensibility is postulated nowhere. The latter is ac-
cepted as a fact, where it is met with, but then, its 'why and
wherefore5 is determined as far as possible. I come back to the
Tantras again and again j no matter how extravagant some of
its sentences sound, it is always possible to follow their mean-
ingj their fundamental ideas are always in accordance with
reason.1 How many errors to which Christianity has suc-
cumbed to this day, have not been obviated in India by philo-
sophic foresight! Sexual continence is regarded in both cases as
spiritually valuable. Why, and in what way, is this so? The
Christian Church has never explained it. Thus it proclaimed
the most extraordinary doctrines: love, as such, is denounced as
a sin, woman is looked upon almost as a she-devil, virginity is
the only condition whkh could be called blessedj Christianity
raised that which was contrary to nature to an ideal. The
Indians have sought the meaning of the problematical value of
renouncing the joys of love. In so doing they discovered that
continence helped the man who was ripe for saintliness, be-
cause in his case his creative energies are capable of transmuta-
tion into spiritual onesj for him, continence is a technical aid.
But this transmutation succeeds only in those rarely organised
creatures whom we call saints, from which it follows that
continence does not advance the average man spiritually. It is
better for his soul that he permit his body what it demands,
for otherwise the latter*s repressed desires would be forced up
into the realm of the soul. — Therefore, what Christianity has
revered as an ideal for centuries is in reality only a technical

xOne should read in this connection the books on Tantra by Arthur Avalon
(Sir John Wpodroffe), published by Luzac & Co. in London. His Principles of
Tcmtra, and in particular his introduction to the Mahaparanirvana-Tantra are
the best books published so far on the spirit of any philosophy of ritual.

CHAP.28 BENARES 237

optimum for certain exceptional natures. — The meaning of
spiritual love has also been understood better by the Indians
than by us. As I have already remarked: fervent love towards
God is more widespread in India than among us. It is to-day
the predominant form of divine worship. The ancients differ-
entiated between three ways which lead to the ultimate goal:
the path of recognition (Gnana Yoga), that of love (Bhakti
Yoga), and that of work (Karma Yoga). Of these, the first
was regarded as the highest in so far as salvation (Mukti) con-
sisted in recognition in every case; the philosopher, therefore,
moved in the highest sphere from the beginning; the last of
the three was regarded as the lowest, because here the auton-
omous spirit hardly collaborated, and success was achieved by
virtue of rules and regulations followed blindly, as it were
mechanically; but the path of love was regarded as the easiest.
In what way is it the easiest? In so far as it is in the nature of
this feeling to radiate; he who loves does not think of himself
for the time being; his soul opens out naturally and inevitably;
and the man who has become entirely free from himself has
by this very fact found his God. From this virtue of love the
founders of Christianity have drawn the conclusion that love is
the highest virtue in itself. The Indians, who are too pro-
foundly conscious to assign metaphysical reality to an empirical
feeling, too acute to see something super-empirical in it, too
critical in order to raise, to an end in itself, any means, no
matter how good, have simply deduced that the path of love is
the easiest for men. For this reason they recommend it above
all others. Each successive saint has laid greater stress upon
the advantages of Bhakti Yoga and upon the difficulties of the
path of recognition, so that to-day precisely that which the
Christian Church regards as its very owa is the heart of Hin-
duism. But even to-day, as in the days of the great sages, the
path of recognition is considered the higher and love does
not count nearly as much as it does among us. Of course God
is love, say the Bhaktas, just as He is the quintessence of every-
thing positive; but the feeling of love, as men know it, no
matter how much their feeling strives heavenwards, is not
divine in itself. How could longing be without self-interest?

238 INDIA PART in

Desire for union without selfishness? Human love is in-
trinsically not selfless. It is true that human love contains
within it the road which leads to selflessness most rapidly, be-
cause it opens the soul} but this does not sanctify it. — In fact,
human love is intrinsically not selfless. Anyone who doubts this
should survey the history of Christianity with an unprejudiced
mind: this section of humanity, inspired by the spirit of Love,
has brought about the era of the crassest egoism which has
ever become dominant. Of all followers of higher religions,
the Christian is the least free. It is not well to call divine that
which is human: we would have got spiritually farther than
we have done without the cult which is practised in Europe in
the name of love* We would be less aggressive, less incon-
siderate, we would have more insight and understanding} if
we had lacked its covering cloak, we would not have let our-
selves go so unrestrainedly in the direction of our selfish
impulses* Love, as a mode of feeling, is not at all divine j it is
something purely empirical, which leads us upwards or down-
wards, according as to how we treat and care for it, how it is
understood, directed and animated. In its nature love is essen-
tially unjust, prejudiced, exclusive, covetous and lacking in
charity: a sufficiency of attributes indeed to characterise it as
all too human. What changes love — in, oh, such rare cases —
to something divine, is a higher spirit which animates it. If
the spirit of pure giving without ulterior motive, of giving
without wanting to receive, has taken possession of it, then
love is indeed divine. But it does not possess this spirit by
nature j the latter, on the contrary, melts down everything
which is usually considered 'lovely and lovable/ and manifests
itself, moreover, just as well in the desire for recognition, the
impulse for action, the impulse for artistic creation. It is a
misfortune that this spirit has now been identified with love
for more than two thousand years. Plato was the first insti-
gator of this identification. With his preference for mythical
expression, he called the primary force of spontaneity after the
god of love, in recognition of the fact that it found its most
tangible expression in procreation. But he never identified it
with love* This happened later on in Christianity, when the

CHAP.28 BENARES 239

longings of the weak began to determine more and more all
conceptual formations. It has gone so far by now that it is
considered a matter of course to regard love as the highest
possible ideal. All higher aspirations are determined in accord-
ance with this dogma. Nothing could be objected to such a
view in so far as it were possible to make the concept of love
so wide that it included all creative spontaneity within it.
This, however, is not possible. Love without personal inclina-
tion, without emotional obsession, without the impulse of the
heart, remains an empty concept. Thus, this dogmatic assump-
tion compels most people to conceive as transcendental the
most empirical elements of love. The man who does not love
his fellow personally, no matter how ideal his aspirations may
be otherwise, is said to be 'as sounding brass or a tinkling cym-
bal': that is how they understand the saying of St. Paul. Senti-
mentality is to them an expression of spiritual profundity,
although no saint was ever sentimental, and affectionate attach-
ment is regarded as a proof of spirituality. What a supersti-
tion!— Humanity will still need many Nietzsches, many ene-
mies of Christianity, before they reach the point of differenti-
ating the spirit from the letter, of living in the spirit and in
truth.

AS far as I can judge, the Indians alone have understood the
meaning of the importance of faith in religion correctly. In
practice, Hinduism teaches exactly the same concerning the
healing power of trust in God as Christianity. Indian human-
ity has, in the course of its development, accepted more and
more the assurance of Krishna (in the Bhagavat-Gita) : <He
who is able to follow neither the path of recognition nor that
of love nor that of work, but who trusts himself to me confid-
ingly, him will I yet save/ The Indians, however, have never
understood this miraculous power of faith as though believing-
to-be-true and trust as such possessed this quality} they have,
above all, never betrayed the folly of imagining that blind re-
lief is more than understanding, and that the desire for knowl-
edge is criminal. They have realised, with the intuition of far-

240 INDIA PART in

sighted psychologists, that faith can even bring the man to
recognition for whom a direct approach is barred by lack of
talent* Recognition does not lead to salvation, but is salvation.
He who really knows (that is to say, knows vitally, not merely
theoretically, with his intelligence) that he is one with Brahma,
is beyond all fetters by virtue of this knowledge*1 Every rise
on the ladder of created beings consists in changing the plane
of one's consciousness} such change is the primary cause of all
differences j it differentiates the savage from the sage and the
latter from God. When we say that a higher being stands
above certain things, we state something which is literally true:
they no longer fetter him; because, being different, he sees
them differently, from a different point of view, they no longer
possess any power over him. This 'seeing differently7 means
at the same time better recognition; recognition, therefore,
does not only condition, but is, salvation. There is no greater
power than that of knowledge. There is no other kind of inner
progress than that of recognition. The man who strives after
goodness knows better than the evil-minded, he who desires
to understand is more wise than the man who hunts gold.
Even where something apparently non-intellectual is at stake,
such as moral or ethical progress, even the advanced individual
himself does not understand, he is in fact increasing in wisdom,
for all development tends in the direction of the conscious
spirit. There is no greater superstition than the belief in the
insurmountability of natural conditions. Nature, of course, is
as she is — the facts of nature are doubtless insuperable in
themselves; but all forces are effective only on a. certain plane,
and the man who rises above it escapes their influence. He
does not escape these forces in imagination, but in absolute
reality, because, 'knowing better* presupposes 'becoming differ-
ent* In his deepest being man is spirit, and the more he recog-
nises this, the more firmly he believes it, the more fetters fall
away from him. Thus, it could happen that, in accordance with
Indian mythology, complete recognition overcomes even death*
All salvation consists in recognition, but faith prepares the

Western

have developed this trend of thought Mly, and adapted it to modern
rn conditions, in my book Schopferische Erkenntniss, Darmstadt, 1922

CHAP.28 BENARES 241

way. This is due to the fact that belief Jin some truth gives
the latter the possibility of externalising its immanent forces.
Every idea accepted without resistance, faithfully adhered to,
reverentially fixed in the mind, reacts upon the consciousness.
Man, moreover, is much more receptive than he appears} his
subconscious takes in more than his consciousness} the object
of belief impresses itself upon the former and provokes a
development which necessarily proceeds in accordance with
the image in which he believes. If this image has been well
chosen, which is the case in most materialisations of ideals
within all higher religions, then it accelerates inner progress}
it leads towards recognition. And such an image leads poorly
gifted people much more quickly to their goal than inde-
pendent thinking would do. An idea is a force which produces
its peculiar effect — organising, stimulating, procreating — with
the same necessity as any other natural force, always pro-
vided that the idea finds sufficient credence. The medium
which it needs is a believing soul. For this reason, all religions
which teach that, if only we believe, the rest will happen of its
own accord, are right in doing so. The automatism of the
processes of the soul leads to the goal more rapidly than any
unintelligent efforts of autonomy.

Belief, therefore, is a means to more rapid recognition} it has
no other significance. For this reason it is a matter of indiffer-
ence in principle, what we believe in, whether what we believe
in is real, or whether it can resist critical thought. Uncul-
tured people will only be able to believe when they are con-
vinced simultaneously that the content of their faith is also
objectively real: that Krishna was really an Avatar, that the
Bible is really the Word of God, that Christ has saved human-
ity from death in the historical sense. The cultured individual
knows that faith in the religious sense, and believing-to-be-true
in the scientific one, have nothing in common with each other,
that religiously it is completely indifferent whether Christ
existed or not, and the perfectly cultured individual who is
spiritualised employs faith at will like an instrument. The
greatest among the Indians attained to this stage. They had
attained to the union with Brahma} they knew that all concrete

242

INDIA PART m

religious manifestations are of human origin. Nevertheless,
they sacrificed themselves to this, sometimes to another god,
in the fulness of their faith, knowing very well that such prac-
tices benefit the soul* Ramakrishna was, for a while, a Chris-
tian and also a Mussulman; he wanted to know the effect of
these ideals j and in the meantime his faith was so strong that
Mahomet as well as Jesus appeared to him in the spirit* For
the rest, he kept to the worship of Kali, the heavenly mother,
as being the cult best suited to his nature, for he was conscious
of the truth that no one form was intrinsically adequate to
divinity*

Everywhere where a religious form is to suit each and all, it
seems necessary to lay stress on f aith j faith alone is appropriate
to all. Only the intellectually gifted attains to God through
recognition; only he whose nature is rich in possibilities of
feeling attains to Him along the road of lovej and only the
physically energetic individual can travel successfully along
that of labour- Every path is appropriate only to certain tem-
peraments, and no one can alter his nature. But every one can
believe and trust in a principle. This explains why the com-
mandment to believe has gained pre-eminence in the long run
everywhere, even among the followers of Buddha, whose
teaching stresses, as no other, the necessity of independent
recognition j this does not mean that a higher principle has
supplanted lower ones (unless we call the desire for catholicity
a higher principle). But at one time or another the moment
comes when faith begins to lose its healing power. It has
arrived when the intellect becomes emancipated. The intellect
begins its independent career as a destructive and disintegrat-
ing element j it cannot build up before it has matured. When-
ever it becomes the dominant factor of a soul, the soul changes
in its state of consciousness. It does not seem capable, as
before, of realising its depth directly, it can do so only through
the intellect, and as the intellect is not in the beginning a
match for deeper problems, the soul loses all contact with
its depths. It becomes superficial. Thus, the men of classic
antiquity became superficial after their intellect had broken
through the barriers of faith, and the same is true progressively

CHAP.28 BENARES 243

of ourselves, the children of the modern age, ever since the
days of the Reformation. What is to be done? The worst
possible means would be to advocate the suppression of the
intellect, to support a return to a simpleton's faith: it is an
advantage, not a disadvantage, that men are becoming stronger
intellectually. The problem is to make the intellect more
profound. Once the intellect has developed sufficiently to un-
derstand the meaning of faith, the profound significance of
all that it originally regarded as nonsense, then the intellect
will become religious once more. Not before. Modern man
is intrinsically an intellectual being. Only that which he has
understood becomes a vital force in him. Let him, therefore,
as soon as possible, understand what made his unreflecting
ancestors great.

NOTHING can be heard more frequently from the lips of those
who pray on the Ganges than the repetition of the holy syllable,
Om. It is said to embody the ultimate meaning of the world,
the alpha and omega of all wisdom j it is said, moreover, to
possess the virtue, thanks to the particular enervation which
results upon its pronunciation, of inducing, after sufficiently
frequent repetition, a condition of the organism which is most
favourable to the realisation of Atman. There may be some
truth in it. I got them to show me how one has to produce the
word Om: it is not easy; apparently, no one can pronounce it
in the only satisfactory manner for a long time 5 it is quite
possible that the combination of particular bodily movements,
with particular mental images which must be visualised simul-
taneously, induces, in this case too, lasting changes in the
psycho-physical equilibrium.

But even if the belief in the physical effect of articulating the
word Om should prove to be insubstantial, the belief in the
virtue of its repetition would still be justified. 'Superstition'
is right as opposed to rationalism: there is a point in repeating
audibly the truth which we wish to take possession of us.
Napoleon used to say: La seule formula rhetorique serieuse,
cyest U repetition; he knew that by repetition one ultimately

244 INDIA PART m

influences that portion of the subconscious mind from which
everything profound and enduring emanates. And in the same
way it is useful to the faithful to say out loud, in the briefest
possible words, what he wants to realise. Such repetition is
more potent in effect than thinking; it influences the subcon-
scious directly, which connects automatically every content with
the word which normal consciousness has ever associated with

But, of course, such a procedure is only efficacious in the
case of the man for whom the word has a living significance,
and who is seriously concerned to translate it into life. Most
of those who pray on the Ganges 'use vain repetitions/ as
Christ said of the heathens, no matter what the idea of their
action may be, and the summit of their success is confined to
putting them into a pleasant hypnotic trance by virtue of the
constant repetition of similar sounds. Has any devotional
practice ever been spared this fate of becoming meaningless?
Very likely not. All the less so, because they are all meaning-
less in themselves, and only embody exactly as much meaning
as the man who employs them knows how to bestow upon them.
Perhaps no religious leader, with the single exception of
Buddha, has realised thisj most of them believed that what
was useful to them would be useful to every one. All the great
Indian Bhaktas have praised the mere repetition of the name
of God as the most effective spiritual exercise. They were
justified for themselves: in their exalted souls this repetition
awakened all the mental images which they could connect
with Him, in a higher degree than any cumbersome prayer
which demanded more attention to the wording, and at the
same time could never imply anything like as much as the
name of God meant to them. The same exercise was less
useful to their disciples, whose souls were not devoured by the
same fervour, and for their pupils it soon ceased to mean any-
thing at all. — It is probably impossible that a formula will ever
be found which is capable, as such, of keeping alive religious
content Rites are desirable because they stimulate the recrea-
tion of religious content j dogmas are always unsatisfactory
because they falsify it. Luther, in this connection, has probably

CHAP.28 BENARES 245

given the most impressive example. I know of few greater
religious experiences than his 5 what he understood by justi-
fication by faith5 was something so immense, so profound an
inner religious experience as has, perhaps, been vouchsafed
in the whole history of Christianity only to St. Augustine
beside himself. But now as to the formula of 'justification by
faith* in itself! It is perhaps one of the most unfortunate
which has ever been found, perhaps the most superficial of
all possible formulas. It positively compels man to accept the
idea that the fact of recognising a particular set of dogmata is
sufficient to justify and save the soulj that all profounder
aspirations are superficial if not evil. Luther's formula has
had a corresponding effect upon those who professed it.
Lutheran religion developed only too soon into what it is, on
the whole, to-day: a cheap believing-to-be-true of certain dog-
mata, together with an even cheaper trust in God's good-
ness j a religiosity which precludes all profound experience.
There is real tragedy in the continued effect of Luther's ex-
perience of God. This tragedy seems all the greater when we
have recognised that it was inevitable. Luther's personal ex-
perience was simply unique j it could not be generalised, it
could hardly become fruitful. Martin Luther was not univer-
sal enough to act as a beneficent personal example. And it fell
precisely to his lot to inaugurate a new era. . . .

YESTERDAY towards sundown I saw the one show-saint of
whom my Indian friends had told me that he was to be taken
seriously. He made a great impression upon me. Not because
he has already sat for seven years in a receptacle like a dove-
cot, which he only leaves once a day in order to bathe in the
Ganges, and because, through the whole of this long period,
he has never said a wordj not because his gymnosophic exist-
ence represents the completion of a successful activity as a
teacher — in this connection almost every Indian is worthy of
admiration, because almost every one of them is capable of
renouncing the world at a moment's notice and ending his
days in poverty and seclusion: the saint impressed me through

246 INDIA PARTHI

his highly intelligent and wonderfully spiritualised expression*
His eye revealed nothing of that moist glamour which grows
with emotional hallucination, his traits showed nothing of
that estrangement which is simultaneously^ a sign^of the de-
rangement of the inner equilibrium. His consciousness is,
no doubt, wrapped up completely in the experiences of his
inner life, but what it reflects must be truly his inmost self, for
otherwise his expression could not be so real} he looks as self-
contained and strong as any man of action. If only he would
speak, he could reveal much, but he is speechless. ^ I can well
understand it* The desire for communication disappears in
proportion to the advance in interiorisation, and he who does
not possess the temperament of the scientist, the man who does
not to this extent remain a child of the world, no matter how-
unworldly his aims may be, becomes ever more monosyllabic
until he finally becomes dumb. The explanation is that every-
thing extreme is exclusive. The man who has literally got
behind his thoughts knows that his real meaning is not com-
municable, because all peculiarity is unique and can only be
understood by one individual, in the same way as the existence
of a particular personality can only be lived' by this one per-
sonality* Whatever men like myself strive for, appears, from
the Atman point of view, as a compromise. What am I doing
in trying to determine metaphysical reality objectively? I am
looking for a scheme which would drcumscribe it from all
sides, and I might find this scheme. But after doing this, that
which I mean would not be expressed as such, but only its
contours would have been described. Of course, it might
seem as if I had done more, for if the contours are clear as well
as correct, every other intelligent human being could place
the content there for himself, so that he might believe I had
shown the 'thing.' But I would not really have done this,
because it is impossible. All scientific expression is only a
frame for that of which one must be conscious anyhow in order
to recognise itj the man who is not possessed of a self, or of a
self -consciousness similar to my own, will never understand
what I mean, even if I found the best possible definition. The
holy man to whom the progress of science seems a matter of

CHAP.28 . BENARES 247

indifference, therefore prefers to keep his knowledge for him-
self, since he cannot express it as such.

According to modern European ideas, the life of such a man
seems altogether worthless j for he does nothing, does not
even teach, lives only for himself and allows himself, more-
over, to be supported through the charity of his fellows. The
Indians regard such a life as being more valuable than that of
the most active philanthropist. They are grateful for his
existence, they count themselves blessed that he is among
them, and they deem it an honour to be allowed to contribute
to his sustenance. This expresses the same spiritual idealism
of which I had an opportunity to speak already in Ceylon: it is
a necessity to the nobler individual to serve his ideals, and he
needs to do this with the appearance of selflessness. But how
are we to understand that precisely the inactive holy man
embodies the ideal of the Indians? — Here I touch upon a
decisive element in his outlook on the world* Undoubtedly
the facts are not as the Theosophists would have them, who
cannot shake off their occidentalism, and justify the facts by
interpreting them in saying that the Yogi actually works much
more than the worldly worker, only he works in another
sphere} he is sending out ceaselessly astral and mental vibra-
tions which are more beneficial to the rest of humanity than
all earthly toil. That may be; but that is not what the Indians
mean. They mean that action, even good action, is not in-
trinsically important. Only being is of real significance. Why
want to make humanity happier, wiser, better, when every-
body stands on the very level to which he has worked himself
up in the course of his previous incarnations, when he experi-
ences just as much good, suffers just as much as he deserves?
It is altogether impossible to help others directly} not even the
most energetic nor the best organised charity reduces the sins
and the sufferings of this world. Since unhappiness and hap-
piness depend upon an inner condition, even the most favour-
able change in external circumstances could not make any
essential difference. Of course, benevolence, working for
others, beneficence, self-sacrifice, have been ordained — but
why? So that the man who does good shall progress inwardly,

248 INDIA PART m

not because in so doing he helps others much. Man is to do
good for his own sake5 it belongs to Sadhana, which leads to
perfection. The man who is perfect, or nearly so, needs this
exercise no longer. He need act no more, nor perform any-
thingj he has attained to the goal of all possible work. He is
truly selfless, beyond the fetters of the egoj whatever he may
do is meaningless for him. But for the others? It does not
matter about the others in the sense in which the West, in its
superstition, believes that one can help others materially.
Altruism is not worth a farthing more than egoism, in fact it
can be more corrupting in so far as it purchases the gain of the
man who practises it at the expense of the disadvantage of
many others. It is hardly possible to benefit another person
without encouraging him in his selfishness j for such a man
perceives that his selfish wishes are taken seriously, and this
influence is corrupting. It makes him think first of all of his
personal happiness, it makes it more difficult for him to be-
come free, and everything depends on liberation -(Mukti)
alone. One can only be truly of use to others by giving them
an example. And the Yogi, who is beyond all earthly fetters,
beyond labour and work, beyond egoism and altruism, beyond
inclination and disinclination, presents the highest example of
all. For this reason, his existence among men is more valuable
than the life of the most useful of workers.

I will not probe to-day how far this attitude is applicable on
the whole. It is, at any rate, certain that it contains two truths
which are valid in general. The first of these is that work is
only a means, not an end. It is certainly true that a man's
inner necessity for work proves the youth of his soul. If a
crude man does not work he deteriorates, he precludes the
possibility of progress for himself j a Grand-Seigneur does not
need to do anything, and still remains on his high levelj and
the sage is altogether superior to all need for occupation. All
eternal values have reference to being, not to performance}
performance possesses real significance only in so far as it
substantiates being. Nothing illustrates this truth more clearly
than Western civilisation, which is built upon the opposite
point of view. The Westerners live for their work, they deem

CHAP.28 BENARES 249

it the most important, the most essential of all things, they
judge all being according to its efficacy. With the result that
their performances probably outstrip everything which has ever
been done upon earth} life, however, is the loser as never
before. The more I see of the East, the more unimportant the
type of the modern Westerner seems to me. He has abdi-
cated his life in favour of a means to it. — The second absolute
truth which lies at the bottom of the Indian attitude to this
world is that good action benefits essentially only ourselves,
not others. The most enormous presumption, coupled with
pathetic misunderstanding, is contained in the belief which
animates Western charity. It is a good thing that this charity
exists: it advances the charitable j that it often damages those
who receive such charity is certain, but their loss is, on the
whole, probably smaller than the advantage which the others
gain by it. But their gains would be many times greater if
they did not live in the delusion of doing good to others: of
giving rather than taking themselves; of being allowed to
count upon gratitude. This delusion often costs them their
reward. Let us look at our typical benefactors: they are gener-
ally Pharisees of the worst kind, self -admiring, self-com-
placent, aggressive, pre-potent, tactless and inconsiderate, a
moral plague for their clients. If they knew that they really
helped themselves, not others, by dispensing with their super-
fluity, that they therefore had more cause to be grateful to
the poor than to expect gratitude from them, then their activ-
ities would be more fraught with blessing. It would accelerate
their progress, would make them seem more lovable, above all,
it would produce, in the souls of the poor, not that inner resist-
ance which the demand for gratitude awakens in most of them,
and to which so much of the inner shrinking is due which
predominates among our poor 5 then, lastly, less stress would
be laid in the appraising of life's inessentials. Anyone who
imagines that he is doing goodness knows what in satisfying
some sufferer, professes, in so doing, the point of view accord-
ing to which material well-being is the main essential.

There is actually much more charity among the natives of
India, as in the whole of the East, than among us. The sense

250 INDIA PART ra

of belonging together is so strong there, the consciousness of
being unique so little developed, that no extraordinary deter-
mination is necessary in order to let one's neighbour participate
in one's possessions. Apart from catastrophe, real famine, the
poor in the East seem to be exposed to the danger of starvation
far less than they are with us. Every one gives as far as he
can to the needy, supports poor relatives, the sick, children and
wanderers; he does so as a matter of course, without making
any fuss about it j he does not believe that he is doing anything
very special, and above all he does not count upon eternal
gratitude. He knows that what he is doing benefits himself.
For this reason there is, in the whole of the vast Orient, in-
comparably less resentment among the poor towards the
wealthy, a much lower estimation of riches, and a much more
free attitude towards material needs and their satisfaction. No
needy individual makes any fuss about accepting support; it
would never occur to any priest to be particularly grateful for
sacrificial giftS5 there the existence of a holy man, who does
nothing and is supported by his fellowmen, is a matter of
course. It ought to be like that everywhere. But the matter-
laden West will hardly climb to so elevated a position.

BENARES is overflowing with the diseased and the infirm. No
wonder: a great number of the pilgrims come here in order to
die on the shores of the Ganges. I have indeed, during these
days, seen more of that which induced Prince Siddhartha once
upon a time to leave this world than ever before. And yet I
have never felt less compassion. These sufferers suffer so
little, they have, above all, no fear whatever of death. Most
of them are superlatively happy to be allowed to end their
days near the holy river; and as to their infirmity — well, that
must be endured; it will not take very long anyhow. And
some old sin is no doubt scored off in the process. — The faith
of the Indians is said to be pessimistic. I know of none which
is less so. It believes in a scheme of the world in which every
being rises upward inevitably, in which, at most, one man in
millions of millions succeeds in falling lower. The whole

CHAP.28 BENARES 251

processes of the world bear him along in so far as he progresses,
and he must overcome all resistance before he can deteriorate.
The aim of this ascent is, of course, not one which may seem
desirable to the Westerner. His soul is still too young to
strive after liberation. But it is certain that to the Hindu libera-
tion means the same state of bliss as Heaven does to the Chris-
tian.

I have spent this day with the members of the local Rama-
krishna Mission. They have founded an asylum where those
who have come to die in Benares can find care and a home.
Very few of the sufferers would think of seeking admission;
their physical suffering does not seem to them important
enough for that. But a certain number of members of the
Mission go on a daily round through the streets of the town
and select the infirm old people whose condition seems to them
to be worst. I have never been in a hospital with a more
cheerful atmosphere. The certainty of salvation sweetens all
suffering. And the quality of the love for one's neighbour
which animated the male nurses was exquisite. These men
are truly real followers of Ramakrishna, the cGod-elated.'
Full of love and yet understanding everything, not fanatical,
not importunate. They are what all *f riends of men' should be.

Intercourse with these men has made me clearly aware of
the difference between Indian and Christian piety, even there
where both religions approach each other most closely: the
Indian does not know the feeling of sinfulness. The word
'sin' appears often enough in their religious literature, if one
can believe the translations, but the meaning to which it cor-
responds is a different one. What we call sin is unknown to
the Indian. He cannot know it, since all wrong-doing (just as
all good actions) is traced to Maya; failings therefore do not
possess metaphysical significance. Every action entails, ac-
cording to the law of Karma, its natural and inevitable conse-
quence; every one must bear those for himself, no merciful
Providence can remove them. Salvation, however, consists
in the liberation from all bonds of nature, and once this has
been attained, the traces of all actions are wiped out. — But in
making this observation the real problem has not yet been

252 INDIA PART III

touched upon. The Christian consciousness of sin depends
less on the fact of the sinf ulness believed in than upon the com-
mandment to bear it in mind constantly, and this is what the
Indian doctrine of salvation forbids. It teaches: as man thinks,
so will he become. If he thinks of himself constantly as bad
and low, he will become bad. Man ought to think of himself,
not as badly as possible, but as well as possible; not, of course,
in such a way that he exalts his actual position, but so that he
never doubts that he can become better. Nothing is con-
sidered more conducive to progress than optimism, nothing
more conducive to decay than lack of . self-confidence. The
man who does not believe in himself is considered to be an
atheist in the real sense of the word. The highest ideal would
be if a man could think of himself continuously, not as the
most sinful of sinners, as according to Christian doctrine, but
as perfect; such a man would no doubt attain perfection even
in this life.

Once more, Hinduism is absolutely in the right j perfect
understanding of the soul speaks from the commandment for-
bidding the contemplation of sinf ulness; nothing could in
principle be more erroneous than the Christian point of view.
Undoubtedly innumerable failures of Western humanity can
be traced back to this psychological error. To-day it may
probably be regarded as having been overcome. Not only the
emancipated spirits among us reject the traditional doctrine;
the same is happening more and more within those branches
of the Christian Church which have remained alive and there-
fore continue to develop. This concept of sin is the remnant
of the conceptual complex of crude times. In those days it
was beneficial enough: our reckless ancestors could only be
held in check by the constant fear of the wrath of God, by
nothing but crises of contrition could they be led to a higher
condition. Even to-day the consciousness of sin is beneficial
to many. There are not a few who delight in it so much that
they will continue to adhere to it in spite of superior insight.
Masochism is deeply rooted in men; up to a certain degree
every one feels his vitality heightened by being violated by a
superior power j a note of voluptuousness can clearly be heard

CHAP.28 BENARES 253

from the contrition of most Christian penitents. All the same,
every spiritualised type of humanity will, sooner or later, have
to reject the concept of sinfulness; it is only harmful from a
certain point onwards, because, in and by itself, it is false. Of
course, there is sin — we call sin that which man thinks or does
in opposition to the God within him; in this sense every pro-
found human being will know the consciousness of sin in all
time to come, and this will contribute to his salvation in pro-
portion as it becomes clear to him, for recognition alone causes
an immediate improvement. But there is no sinfulness in the
Christian sense, no sin which is only and essentially enslaving.
Man, as he is, is the product of his own actions and those of his
forbears. He experiences, during every moment of his exist-
ence, the reward which Christianity saves up for the hereafter.
And nothing which he has done condemns him. So long as the
soul is alive, so long it is capable of rising higher, in fact, it
generally reaches the glorious radiance of day most quickly
from the blackest of black nights, because its terrors force the
soul to the recognition, which twilight does not necessarily
give to it — that and in what direction it has gone astray. — Here,
as in so many other cases, the Indians are the older and the
wiser people compared with ourselves. However, not only
wisdom, folly too has its advantages. It was in Adyar, I think,
that I pondered upon the merits of the absurd belief in eternal
damnation, and how much harm their prof ounder teaching had
done to the mass of the Hindus. The position about the
consciousness of sinfulness is similar. It creates a pathos
which cannot be supplied by anything else, it gives a specific
profundity to experience, which stands or falls with it. Of all
people, the Puritans and the Moslems have most, and the
Hindus least, character. This is to be explained by the fact
that the latter believe in a massive, unalterable destiny, which
appears to man as something external ; and the former believes
in his own absolute autonomy. The Indian faith corresponds
to reality; ill a perfectly cultured individual it produces the
highest of which mankind can conceive. It devitalises, on the
other hand, the uncultured individual; it tempts him to let
himself go, to live slackly. For him it is probably better to

254 INDIA PART m

possess a motive for constant self-control in the beneficent fear
of an external power, no matter how fictitious it may be.

THE man in the holy city who expects to meet only faintly
and wise men, to meet only the expression of real religiosity
and profound understanding, will suffer grave disappointment
in Benares: nowhere on earth, on the contrary, does one meet
with more superstition and more lack of understanding, more
mercantile priesthood, and more well-calculated swindles^ It
is hot possible that the mass should not be superstitious in a
place where visible and tangible phenomena conduce so much
to such a belief} only a developed individual can differentiate
with certainty between the symbol and the empirical reality.
And it would be inhuman if no people could be found who
make money as far as possible out of such misunderstanding.
Among the Yogis all too great a proportion train themselves
not upwards towards God, but downwards towards the animals:
for, if a man gains power over muscles not usually subject
to the will, for instance, if he learns consciously to regulate
the beating of his heart, this means that he is retrogressing
to the condition of the wormj just as, if a man can let him-
self be buried for weeks without taking harm, it means that
he can do what hibernating animals can do even better. These
Hatha Yogis are all of them insipid and are regarded as such}
the whole of the energy which, at best, is controlled by their
intellects, is confined to the body. And probably most of the
pilgrims are more or less superstitious. This must be so where
psychic phenomena are regarded as primary, for only the
intellectually gifted and cultured individual possesses enough
self-critidsm in order to differentiate, without external assist-
ance, between true and false ideas. The mass, after all, in so
far as it is to progress in this world, is better served by crude
realistic nature} for this reason the Christians and the Moham-
medans make a much more genuine impression than the
Hindus. The former accept only the tangible} that is to say,
something real, nothing imagined, no matter how small a
portion of the whole of reality this may bej whereas the latter,

CHAPES BENARES 255

intent only too frequently upon unreality, ultimately become
unreal themselves.

But it is just in this that the profundity of Indian philosophy
is proved, that it sees in error everywhere the expression of
truth, and thus does not exclude anything from life. The
Indian spirit has recognised long ago that all empiric forma-
tions are strictly conditioned} it knows that it depends upon
externals whether a man thinks wrongly or rightly, whether
his actions are good or evil, whether he believes in reality or
unreality} it knows that it is a matter of accident (from the
point of view of one given life, without reference to the totality
of the past)- whether a man appears a criminal or a saint.
Ultimately all appearances have the same significance. If a
tiny cog is moved in the brain, the wise man becomes a fool}
particularly favourable external circumstances allow a small
individual to appear great} an experience which by accident
has not been made prevents the seeker after God from ultimate
enlightenment: who can assert, then, that manifestation pos-
sesses a necessary relationship to being? It is therefore not
a haphazard product of mental construction if faith in false
phenomena is put on the same footing, metaphysically, as faith
in true ones: the man incapable of understanding must estab-
lish his relation with divinity in a different form from the
other who is capable of recognition. Exoterism and Esoterism
possess a more essential relationship in India than they do in
Catholicism. The latter affirms only a pragmatic connection
between its higher and lower forms of expression: that is to
say, exoteric and esoteric truth are felt to be of equal value in
so far as they fulfil the same purpose. The Indian, of course,
affirms the same relationship} but he knows, moreover, that
error can be equivalent to true knowledge, not only in the
pragmatic but also in the ontologic sense: under certain em-
pirical circumstances — intellectual deficiency, lack of educa-
tion, pronounced emotionalism — the consciousness of meta-
physical reality appears in the form of belief in the unreal,
whereas it is revealed as pure recognition to the great mind. It
is a matter of indifference in principle whether the connection
of particular ideas with their ultimate meaning existed from

256 INDIA PART in

the beginning, or whether it became established subsequently}
the latter is almost always the casej metaphysical connections
are valid independently of history. No matter what happens,
irrespective of all causes, and at whatever time: events will
always and everywhere confirm the truth recognised by the
Rishis.

Thus, there is no breach between Indian error and Indian
wisdom j it seems possible everywhere to reach the one from
the other. In our case this is different, because we still cling to
the substantiality of names and forms, we still want to grasp the
totality of life with the intellect. Thus, truth seems to us to
disprove error, perfect expression to destroy imperfect ex-
pression, and when two concepts contradict each other logi-
cally, we hold that only one of them can be correct. We find
ourselves in this, as in so many other directions, in a more
rudimentary stage of development. For this reason the ma-
jority among us are not yet able to understand the whole
profundity of Indian wisdom. The Bhagavad-Gita, for in-
stance, perhaps the most beautiful work of the literature of the
world, appears to many as a philosophically worthless com-
pilation, because a great many different directions of thought
affirm themselves within it simultaneously. To the Indian,
the Bhagavad-Gita seems to be absolutely unified in spirit.
Shankaracharya, the founder of Advaita philosophy, the most
radical form of monism which has ever existed, was in practice
a dualist, that is to say, a supporter of Sankhya-Yoga, during
the whole of his life, and a polytheist in his religious practice.
How was this possible? — Shankara's logical competence is
beyond question. But he was more than a mere logician.
Thus it seemed a matter of course to him that different means
should be used for different ends. In practice no one gets
beyond dualism j it is impossible to think, wish, strive for, act
at all without implicitly postulating duality. Why then deny
it? It alters nothing. On the other hand, the practical insur-
mountability of dualism does not prove that it belongs to Be-
ingj in all probability it depends rather upon the nature of our
instrument of recognition. Being may nevertheless be 'one,
without a second' j which, on the other hand, does not prevent

CHAP.28 BENARES 257

it from manifesting itself in manif oldness. Thus, an extreme
monist may pray to many gods in so far as they facilitate the
realisation of the One, — Shankara's point of view is opposed
by others: there are schools which ascribe duality even to
Being, and again others which present it both as unity and as
duality; there are theistic, pantheistic, atheistic interpreta-
tions. In so far as they are meant to be direct expressions of
metaphysical reality, they are all regarded as equally justified
and orthodox: it is manifestly impossible to arrive at a valid
decision on the farther side of the domain of reason j there, all
philosophies can only be ways of expression. For practical
purposes of recognition, Sankhya-Yoga alone is recognised,
for all practical recognition demonstrably presupposes duality.
As a believer finally, every one may take what view is most
congenial to him, for in this case there can be no question of
any other conception of truth than that of pragmatism. Are
the Indians, then, eclectic? Indeed they are not; they are only
the opposite of rationalists. They do not suffer from the
superstition that metaphysical truths are capable of an ex-
haustive embodiment in any logical system; they know that
spiritual reality can never be determined by one, but, if at all,
by several intellectual co-ordinates. The fact that monism and
dualism contradict each other means just as little in this connec-
tion as the contradiction between the English and the metric
system. Of course, there are people who swear by the one or
the other unity of measures: that is their personal affair. It is
even undeniable that the one evinces advantages over the other
for this or that purpose: the man who does not take advantage
of this fact is a f ooL But never, never have the Indian sages —
I am speaking only of these, I do not mean the Pandits, the
scholars — fallen into our typical error of taking any intellectual
formation seriously in the metaphysical sense. These forma-
tions possess no more density and are no more substantial
than any Maya formation. They may express essentials in
more or less clear and more or less convincing symbols — this
more or less decides their value — but it is never intrinsic in
itself. The Indians, however, are concerned only with being.
They see it in everything, through everything, in spite of

2S8 INDIA

everything. Thus, they are not led astray by intellectual
insufficiency, or by contradictions. They read the Gita liter-
ally as 'the song of the Hallowed one/ as the expression of a
divine spirit, for it is He who speaks to them, no matter how
defective its body..

HOW is it that the real meaning of Indian wisdom has been
recognised so imperfectly in Europe, in spite of the many
learned works which have dealt with it? In so far as general
causes are in question at all, the main fault should probably be
attributed to the external circumstance, that our most impor-
tant investigators have only stayed in India cursorily if at all,
and have never gained contact with its living spirit. Of course,
it is possible to understand the spirit of a given expression
without personal and local knowledge— for instance, a lan-
guage as such, the letter of a philosophy} it must be granted to
Occidentals that they have understood India in this sense better
than India has understood itself. But what a man or a people
have wanted to say, what its innermost meaning has been,
can be perceived in its expression only in the one case where
it appears as the perfect embodiment of its meaning. This
happens very rarelyj it is very questionable whether even
Kant's philosophy, of all philosophies the most univocal, could
really be understood by an alien out of touch with our living
thought. Now the mental creations of the Indians can be
regarded, less than any others in the literature of the world, as
perfect embodiments; they are not perfect already ^because
their originators were not concerned, in our sense, with ade-
quate expression. They were concerned neither with scientific
exactitude nor with artistic pregnancy of expression. Their
writings aimed at something quite different: they were, on the
one hand, to be the skeleton of the living tradition, on the
other, a means for realising spiritual truths, and lastly, an easily
intelligible and retainable method of fixing them in conven-
tional symbols for the benefit of the uninitiated. Not for the
benefit of those who wanted to learn. They were admittedly,
in fact, not meant to be expressions in our sense of the word.

CHAPES BENARES 259

How should it be possible in such circumstances to discover
the meaning from the letter? — It is quite intelligible, though
regrettable, that the equally popular and mistaken parallel
should have been drawn between Indian and Hellenic and even
Kantian philosophies: a fact erroneously ascertained cannot
serve as the basis for correct theories.

Indian philosophy — in so far as it may be described at all in
this way — is, to go to the essential point at once, incomparable
with ours, already because it is not based upon the work of
thought. Think of the traditional Indian method of teaching
as it is referred to every now and then in the Upanishads: if a
pupil puts a question, the teacher does not answer him directly,
but merely says: Come and live with me for ten years. And
during these ten years he does not teach him as we understand
it: he merely gives him a phrase to meditate. The disciple is
not meant to think about it, to analyse it, to evolve, construct
something out of it — he is to sink himself, as it were, into the
phrase until it has taken complete possession of his soul. Kant
used to say to his students: cYou are not to learn a special phi-
losophy from me, but how to think.' That is just what the
Indian Guru never teaches his chelah. In so far as he studies
in a manner known to us at all, he learns by heart — he does, in
fact, the precise opposite of what we regard as desirable. — We
must remember, too, the famous Sutra style: the most im-
portant thoughts and teachings of the Indians appear in such
mutilated brevity that they simply cannot be understood with-
out commentary: this is done so that the pupil shall not be
tempted at any price to study in our way. According to Indian
conviction, Brahmavidya, the realisation of being (the only one
which is regarded as worthy to be striven for) is not attainable
by the processes of thinking. Thinking is believed to move in
its original sphere, without ever leading beyond it. It is be-
lieved to be equally incapable of leading to metaphysical recog-
nition as the senses. Just as no amount of development can
lead the senses to perceive thought, so no amount of thinking
could lead to metaphysical realisation. This can be attained
only by the man who reaches a new level of consciousness.
Metaphysical truth appears to this deeper state of conscious-

260 INDIA PART m

ness as cgiven> in the same direct way as outer nature is given to
the eye and the world of concepts to the intellect. Therefore,
for purposes of study, it is not a question of the work of
thought, but of becoming profound in oneself: it is not a ques-
tion of how to fathom reality by means of a given instrument,
but of how to fashion a new and better one. The ^methods of
study in India and among us, for purposes of gaining philo-
sophic recognition, are therefore absolutely incomparable: we
think, experiment, criticise, define; the Indian practises Yoga.
His ideal is to get beyond the boundaries which Kant has laid
down for the possibilities of experience, by means of changing
one's psychic organism.

From this incomparability of both methods follows the in-
comparability of their results. The Western advances from
thought to thought, inducing, deducing, differentiating^ in-
tegrating} the Indian advances from condition to condition.
The former rises higher and higher in the domain of abstrac-
tions, from particular to general concepts, from these to ideas,
and so forth j the latter changes continuously the form of his
consciousness. He has, of course, objectified what he has
experienced on various planes, he has done so in conceptual
forms j and these concepts are often found identical with ours,
as far as words go. The Indians also speak of the Absolute.
But whereas this concept means a certain stage of abstraction
for us, it means to the Indian rendering an experienced sub-
jective condition objective. It is therefore not a question of
identity but of incommensurability. Atman is not a rational
idea to the Indian, hut the description of an attainable level of
consciousness, Purusha is not the soul of an imagined world
but a principle of experience, and so on. We have, therefore,
in every Western philosophy, a systematic context held to-
gether by laws of reason where limits are, on the one hand,
phenomenal actualities, on the other, the extremest possible
abstraction} we have in Indian philosophy an empirical de-
scription of the possible ascent of the soul from lower to higher
forms of existence. No matter how similar the concepts may
be which are used in both cases for the description of the
various stages — in essence the philosophies of India and the

CHAP.28 BENARES 261

West are completely incongruous j there is no kind of con-
nection between them.

Of course, one often sees the living kernel of Indian philos-
ophy overgrown by the hard husks of scholasticism. But the
man who sees anything essential or necessary in the latter, errs
even more than he who sees the essentials of the teaching of St.
Thomas in his logical constructions. Both cases mean at-
tempts to present, as a rational connection, what is in reality
one of living condition. Such attempts are never successful,
can never be successful, and are therefore not to be taken
seriously. One must see through them if one wishes to under-
stand what is essential. And this essential is never hard to see
in the case of Indian scholasticism, it is generally as clear as
day. The Indians have never been convinced rationalists, as
our medieval philosophers were, for they were not burdened
by a Greek tradition. Thus, their logical webs are always
threadbare and never strong. All deeper philosophers have
known what they really meant. Thus, even among the Indian
scholars, the practice of Yoga is regarded as the path to the
recognition of being. The Pandits are not thought of in India,
as they are among us, as wise menj they are considered as
what they are: grammarians and antiquaries.

I mentioned St. Thomas Aquinas: truly, if anything in
Western literature can be compared with Indian philosophy,
then it is the writings of the great theological doctors. But
even this comparison does not lead us far, because they origi-
nally pursued the same path in a different direction from the
Rishis. The Catholic Church has always only used Yoga in
order to strengthen a faith already presupposed to be true, and
to lead man in the spirit of this faith towards perfection. The
Catholic Church has never wanted to lead men to independent
recognition. To induce independent and true recognition was
the one intention of all training in the great and difficult art
of Raja-Yoga*

EVERYTHING rational and systematic in Indian philosophy is
so much dross; it is scholasticism in the worst sense of the

262 INDIA PART ra

word. Ever since there has been such a thing as philosophy,
spiritual knowledge and scholastic thought have gone together:
where mind recognises directly (or believes to recognise),
which is more than all reason, there a man must be extraor-
dinarily cultured in order to leave its independence intact*
Generally he commands reason to prove, coute que coute, that
which he knows already, and as he is sure of truth and there-
fore does not really need proof, he is content with even
dubious demonstration, so long as it demonstrates what he
presupposes. It is only thus that it can be explained that so
noble a spirit as that of Thomas Aquinas never perceived the
insufficiency of his system.

Indian scholasticism is infinitely worse than that of the West
(just as the Pandits represent the worst embodiment of the
professorial type which I know), because the concepts with
which it juggles are originally not intellectual concepts but
descriptions of concrete conditions, so that its constructions
have no basis whatsoever. But then all Indian philosophy is
more or less scholastic. It is useless to defend Shankara or
Ramanuja: as philosophers they were scholastics, that is to
say, they started from certain convictions which their thought
had to carry out and prove; and this makes them inferior to
every critical thinker of the West. Thus, Oldenberg and
Thibaut are undoubtedly in the right as opposed to those who
try to laud Indian philosophy to the skies. But it involves a
serious misunderstanding of the Indian spirit if one supposes
it to be completely embodied in any system, or in any definite
outlook on the world. Advaita is opposed by Dvaita and
Visishtadvaitaj monistic metaphysics supplement a dualistic
theory of existence and of recognition j the apparently levelling
meaning of the logion tat twam asi is being cancelled by the
most subtle sense for differences, the exhausting tendency of
an extreme consciousness of unity is counteracted by the richest
growth of myths and gods. In India there is no monism at all,
no pantheism, and no consciousness of unity in the Western
sensej that is to say, in no case does the impartial recognition
of manifoldness suffer anywhere. Far from destroying the
wealth of the world of appearances, the teaching of Advaita,

CHAPES BENARES 263

as such, implies only one expression of this very wealth} one
branch more of the vital tree of the Indian spirit. That is how
the Rishis understood it. And if they profess this doctrine
personally as opposed to any other, it was done because some
peculiar empirical form is the most appropriate, to every being,
for empirical reasons. They regard it as idle to argue about
what Brahma was in himself, or even whether he existed, or
whether he was manifold or the reverse. The existence of any
absolute reality appeared evident to themj and the term Brah-
man points to this. Whatever idea or image we form of it
depends on our mental disposition. The Bhakta will always
incline to Theism, the Gnani, on the other hand, towards a
doctrine which stresses unity. For the deeper one penetrates
into oneself, the more one's being is realised in consciousness,
the stronger does the feeling of unity become; therefore one
would have every ground for supposing that, from the point
of view of recognition, the doctrine of essential unity is the
best expression of metaphysical reality. As investigators, the
Rishis were extreme empiricists; they believed only in experi-
ence. In so far as one can co-ordinate their philosophy at all
in any one of the usual categories, one must describe it as
pragmatic. They were, in fact, the ideal pragmatists. They
would agree with William James and F. C S. Schiller, that
all living truth is traceable to postulates in concrete; for no
manifestation is regarded as metaphysically substantial, every
one of them is said to be the product of empirical circum-
stances, which, in the case of recognition, means that the truth
of the individual, as a definite, concrete appearance, depends
on his talent, prejudices and wishes. Only, they would add
with a smile, that this theory does not pronounce the last word}
it only deals with the expression of what we call truth. Its
meaning escapes the frame of pragmatism. There is a 'be-
yond' of manifestation, a realm of pure significance, into which
no postulate reaches, which conversely, however, animates all
living postulates and lends them substance. The man who has
raised his consciousness into this sphere, and knows how to
keep it there continuously, is beyond pragmatism; he sees
through all postulates; his recognition reflects truly the crea-

264 INDIA PART m

tive power which reclines within himself, which is the living
cause of all appearance. Of such a man one could say that he
possessed 'truth'} but this would be an unreal expression} the
pragmatist would be perfectly right to regard such a concept
as empty (so far as it is a question of living and not of logical
truth)} for it could be defined only as the expression of mean-
ing, not as meaning itself, and all expression is necessarily
relative. It would be most correct to say that the cscientesj are
beyond truth as well as error} that this difference does not
exist for them. They live in the domain of pure, living signifi-
cance, which can manifest itself as well in error as in truth.
This significance is a dynamic entity, something purely intense,
which cannot be imagined or conceived as such} wherever
and however this may be attempted, we dutch at an insufficient
transient manifestation instead of an eternal meaning. Thus,
even the Rishi, when he must speak, professes necessarily some
relatively correct system which can be defined by postulates.
But one can give this meaning directly} one can think and act
from it, and then it seems irrelevant exactly what one thinks
and does. ...

The exemplary and eternally valuable quality in Indian
philosophy is the spirit of profundity from which it emanates.
All its manifestations can be imagined in a more perfect form.
I do not believe that one can penetrate into being more deeply}
it seems to me that the extremest profundity has been attained
here. The Indians have overcome the static concept of truth
and replaced it by a dynamic one which transfigures its mean-
ing: we too will do this sooner or later. We too will realise
one day that recognition of being cannot be attained even by the
most far-reaching perfection of our conceptual apparatus, not
by the most exhaustive exploration of our consciousness as it is,
but only by the acquisition of a new and higher form of con-
sciousness. Man must rise above his secular instrument for
recognition} he must get beyond the biological boundaries
whose classical abstract expression is contained in Kant's criti-
cism} he must grow beyond his present gauge j his conscious-
ness must, instead of cleaving to the surface, learn to reflect
the spirit of profundity which is the primary cause of his be-

S BENARES 265

ing. This higher development has begun in India; hence the
miracle of India's recognition of being and its wisdom of
life. It is for us to continue.

THE fact that the wise men, to whose intuitions everything
valuable in Indian metaphysics is traceable, have attained to
that most desirable and profound layer of consciousness, is
admittedly due to Yoga practice. It signifies the practical
foundation-stone of all Indian wisdom. Whereas we base all
our hopes on genius, they expect most things from training- —
The other day a Hindu said to me: That you need great minds
in order to discover truth is a sign how uncultured you are}
you are dependent upon extraordinary accidents. Truth, after
all, is there, to be found by everybody, it is contained in the
smallest phenomenon: after sufficient training every one can
perceive it. What supreme irony that you, the impatient ones,
must wait for the birth of an unusual individual in order to
become conscious of something which is a matter of course (for
every truth is a matter of course!) — The Hindu is undoubt-
edly right in principle. Our dependence on talent is some-
what mortifying. But is it possible to escape from it? That it
is possible is proved by the mere existence of the marvel of
Indian wisdom. In so far as its originators are known, we are
not concerned with great minds in our sense of the word. It is
possible to draw conclusions concerning the quality of a genius,
his originality, his potentiality, the wealth of his talents, with
great certainty from his style and tone: I do not know of one
in the whole of Indian history, with the single exception of
Buddha, who could be regarded in the Western sense as a great
mind; I cannot think of one Indian philosopher who could
bear even an approximate comparison with our great thinkers.
Shankhara, Vyara, as well as Ramanuja were, at most, philos-
ophers of the second rank. And yet many of the prof oundest
cases of insight come from them and not from the Rishis of
antiquity; and Indian wisdom is the profoundest which
exists. I am not asserting something which cannot be proved;
the further we get, the more closely do we approach to the

266 INDIA PART in

views of the Indians. Psychological research confirms, step
by step, the assertions contained, in no matter how insufficient
a theoretical setting, within the old Indian science of the soul.
Again and again the results of philosophical criticism agree
with the mythically cloaked intuitions of the old Rishisj and
with Bergson even metaphysics have turned in the direction in
which India has marched from the beginning. For his meta-
physics resemble no one's else more than they do that of the
Indian Acvagosha.

India owes its recognition admittedly to the training accord-
ing to the Yoga system. Its underlying idea is the following:
by heightening his power of concentration man gains posses-
sion of an instrument of immense power. If he controls this
instrument perfectly it is possible for him to enter into direct
contact with any object in the world, to act at a distance, to
create like a god, to attain whatever he wishes. He has to
direct his concentrated attention only towards one point, and
he then knows everything concerning it* He need only turn
to a problem to understand and solve it. The perfect Yogi is
said not to require any material tools to be effective in the
world, no scientific apparatus in order to attain to recognition}
he is capable of everything, and can experience everything
directly. — It is a matter of indifference whether there has ever
been a perfect Yogi. The essential, decisive factor is, as I
already explained in Adyar, the obvious correctness of the
principle of Yoga theory, the way in which it does justice to
all proven facts of experience, and the inner probability even
of the most extraordinary phenomena which are described as
attainable. Undoubtedly the power of concentration is the
real propelling power of the whole of our psychic mecha-
nism. ^ Nothing heightens our capacity for performance as much
as its increase j every success, no matter in what domain, can
be traced back to the intelligent exploitation of this power.
No obstacle can resist permanently an exceptional power of
will, that is to say, one which has been concentrated to the
utmostj concentrated attention forces every problem sooner or
later to reveal all of its aspects which are capable of recognition
by a specific nature. Yogi philosophy asserts that a sufficiently

CHAPES BENARES 267

high degree of concentration takes the place of natural talents.
What is it that characterises ultimately the special qualifications
of the mathematician? The Yogis reply that it is the capacity
to envisage mathematical relationships so clearly, and to ob-
serve them so attentively, that their character and their possi-
ble consequences become completely evident to him. For they
are there, they exist in the mental world, just like any object
in nature, it is only a question of perceiving them. If it did
not concern itself with something objectively valid,^ some-
thing existing by itself no matter whether it is recognised or
not, there could not be such a thing as mathematical science.
All recognition is perception j reflection, induction, deduction,
are only means to attain to perception. It is not for nothing
that, even in the case of invisible relationships, people say, I
see how matters stand} in fact, one perceives also an abstract
connection. It is unjustified to affirm a difference in principle
between the observation of an external object, the visualisation
in the imagination of a painter, the conception of a thought
and the mental vision of an idea. It is always the same prob-
lem: that of perception. Only the objects and the organs
differ. But an idea, as a phenomenon, is something equally
external as the tree in front of usj we either do or do not per-
ceive it. Just as cognisance in the world of sensuous per-
ception, so in the world of ideas understanding is solely de-
pendent upon the degree of clarity with which the individual
sees. From this two things follow. First of all, the objective
meaning of what we call talent: talent is the idiosyncrasy of an
individual who perceives especially one kind of appearance j
the bad mathematician is the man who fails to attach his powers
of concentration to abstract symbols and their relation j this
interpretation is proved to be correct by the fact that it is
possible to Suggest* faculties to a man in a hypnotic trance
which he does not possess otherwise. — The second and most
important conclusion to be drawn from the previous general
consideration is, however: the man who is complete master of
his psychic apparatus so that he can apply equally well his
power of concentration in every direction, the man who is
capable of fixing perfect attention upon any given point, upon

268 INDIA PART in

any given problem will, if his power of concentration as such
is strong enough, recognise every connection instantaneously
which he turns to (because he sees this connection with perfect
clarity) : he will perceive truth everywhere directly. Such a
man obviously would not need any scientific apparatus, he
could dispense with all logic, all thinking altogether, for these
are only means towards perception} he would not even need
unusual talent, for important results can be attained by imper-
fect means if they are perfectly controlled. And here again the
analogy of experience speaks in favour of this theory from the
beginning: is it not the essence of genius to perceive directly
and instantaneously what others attain to eventually by round-
about paths, if at all, after passing through a thousand inter-
mediate stages? It is really possible to substitute talents by
training, in fact, to get further than talents alone could lead
one. For this reason it is not at all extraordinary that the
Indian sages, in spite of their unquestionably smaller talents,
have evinced deeper insight than the greatest geniuses of the
West

So much for Yoga philosophy. I do not want to assert that
it teaches literally what I have described here, but I am sure
my description implies a possible embodiment of its ultimate
significance. I do not know that anything can be said against
this; I am convinced that it corresponds to reality. I am con-
vinced, moreover, that the Indian discovery of the fundamental
significance of the power of concentration and, above all, the
method of heightening it, is one of the most important dis-
coveries which has ever been made. We would be fools if we
did not take advantage of it. We are so much more vital than
the Indians, have so much more psychic capital at our disposal,
that who knows where we could get to if we only developed
ourselves sufficiently? — I am not merely anticipating here,
I am speaking from experience. At the very beginning of
my stay in India I once discussed inspiration with a Yogi. I
told him what we Westerners understand by this concept, and
how it ^was the tragedy of all those occasionally visited by
inspiration, to which they owed the art they had produced,
that inspiration never stays; it is not susceptible of retention.

CHAP.28 BENARES 269

Here the Yogi interrupted me. Why does it not stay?
Apparently only because you do not know how to retain it.
Of course it can be retained} it only implies a special and by
no means supernatural condition of consciousness, which can
become the normal condition like any other one. If I were in
your place I would never rest — since your very best, as you say,
emanates from an inspired state — until inspiration became my
normal condition. This advice struck me very much at the
time. I began to practise according to the Raja-Yoga method}
instead of transposing, as heretofore, the inspiration of the
moment immediately into thoughts and words, I tried to fix in
my mind the region from which it emanated, and if possible
to rise into it altogether. And behold! the attempt was suc-
cessful. It was possible to remain for considerable periods in
a state which otherwise disappeared after a few seconds: I
began to be conscious of an even higher condition. I tried for
myself what the Yogis asserted: that every condition of con-
sciousness is phenomenologically equivalent to any other. Just
as every one can let his spirit roam in the external world, which
can be perceptible by the senses, the realm which appears as a
fixed actuality, it is also possible to wander about in the world
of mental images when the mind has been 'stilled/ when the
imagination, the 'intoxicated monkey/ has learnt to be quiescent,
and to survey one's concepts as calmly as one surveys trees.
And if one learns, moreover, not to transpose the ideas just
formed into thoughts and concepts immediately, but to hold
them fast as such, then one experiences what suggested to Plato
his doctrine of ideas. But the world of ideas does not signify
the highest stage: high above it towers the domain of pure
significance, and he who dwells there continuously may well be
omniscient. ... I need hardly assert specifically that I did
not get so far. I have, however, frequently gone through the
same experience as Plato: I have surveyed ideas like objects.
During such periods I perceived their connection, their origin,
their meaning} I did not have to think} and sometimes I suc-
ceeded literally in getting behind and round them. I practised
the power which philosophers, from Plotmus to Schelling,
have so inaptly described as 'intellectual contemplation' (it is

270 INDIA PART in

not intellectual, but just as empirical as any other, only from
a different plane of consciousness). I perceived directly what
is otherwise only deduced indirectly. Since having these ex-
periences I am no longer surprised at the profundity of Indian
insight* Recognition is inevitable as soon as one has learnt to
observe psychic events with perfect attention. For every
apparently ultimate instance can serve, in its turn, as a new
basis of observation, from which it is no more difficult to keep
one's eyes on concepts and mental images as on external objects,
and it is as easy to survey ideal relationships as empirical re-
lationships of faith. This explains why the Indians, without
previous epistemological criticism, and in spite of the most
meagre scientific equipment, have recognised rightly meta-
physical reality at once in its relation to the world of ideas
and appearances} and it also explains why their psychology,
no matter what may be said against its expression, reaches to
incomparably greater depths than ours has done up to to-day.
This also explains ultimately the unique profundity of Indian
wisdom on the whole. The great Rishis have lived in their
depths continuously. No wise man of the West has ever done
this. Plato, who was doubtless capable of visualising ideas, did
not know how to gaze beyond them, and therefore failed to
determine their real character j he overestimated them. More-
over, he only saw them occasionally: thus, he only pointed to
them again and again, or else he shed light on the world of
appearances in inspired moments. Plotinus has done nothing
but descend from Atmanj his sayings have the Atman behind
them as it were. Fichte and Hegel attempted, on their part,
to formulate appearances from profundity, and successfully
soj Nietzsche cast flashes of lightning, as it were, upon them
in occasional flights: not one of them has really lived in his
depth. No matter how talented they were, they had not de-
veloped their power of concentration sufficiently} they re-
mained dependent upon empirical accidents. No mind of the
West has been sufficiently capable of concentration to live
continuously in his deepest self. This lack is most in evidence
perhaps in the case of Goethe. This man has probably con-
fined in words more enlightened rays from profundity than any

CHAP.28 BENARES 271

other man of recent periods j but at the same time he was less
capable than any other great man of remaining in the region
from which they emanated. His normal existence took place
on the surface, and if he plunged down into deep waters he
had to recover all the longer on the surface. His Faust repre-
sents the transfigured expression of this insufficiency. In this
poem we see condition ranged upon condition, and no succeed-
ing condition gives expression to an intrinsically more pro-
found state than the preceding onej nor does the last act repre-
sent any fulfilment of the whole of life, but it simply shows
an additional condition, which by chance happens to be the
last, and which, equally accidentally, is valued as the highest.

ALL inner progress from the moment that one's organs are
mature depends, in fact, upon concentration} my own develop-
ment confirms this absolutely. I was no more stupid at the age
of twenty than I am to-day. But my capacities were not co-
ordinated, and as no single one of them, regarded by itself, is
remarkable, I could not achieve anything of consequence.
When my literary and philosophic tendency became dominant,
I acquired an ideal focus in which to collect the rays of my
spirit, and the more these became concentrated, the more ca-
pable did I become. I grew from being a republic gradually
into a monarchy, each year I became more master of myself,
and correspondingly stronger in mind. For a long period this
task of collecting my forces, which I had at an early stage
recognised as the main problem of my self -education, was
made difficult by the weakness of my nervesj every effort was
followed by a collapse, which to some extent confined me to
superficiality. Of course, my Geftige der Welt is not a super-
ficial work, for at that time I was borne along by the passion
of early youth j but my Unsterblichkeit has shallow places, and
this is only because my nerves were not healthy at the time of
its creation. If they had been stronger, this work, which is
nearer to my heart than any others,1 would not have been

XI have partly rewritten this book in preparing its third edition, so that
now it really represents what it was always meant to be.

272 INDIA PARTIU

worse than my Prolegomena*, for I conceived the latter in the
same year, only fortunately I did not work it out in detail
until three years later. Profundity as a propelling force is a .
direct function of nervous energy: the man who cannot strain
his brain cannot think profoundly, no matter how profound
his intuitions may be. It would appear daring to measure pro-
fundity of thought by a dynamic gauge, but it is possible, be-
cause the penetrating power of the mental rays depends upon
the degree of their density, and they in turn depend upon the
existing nervous force. But in making this observation, the
importance of concentration for development is not yet ex-
hausted The more the mind collects itself,^ the more quiet
does it become, the more competent as an instrument. As
long as the surface is in constant motion the intuitions from
the depths cannot interpenetrate it. No ^matter^ how^ often
they may shoot out like lightning, the period of illumination
is too short to transfigure the surf ace. The collected intellect
does not only allow the intuitions to pass through it, it serves
them as a pliant organ, so that ultimately the whole soul be-
comes a means of expression for the inmost light. Thus I find
myself fuller in content from year to year. Instead of ^ cold
reason gaining the upper hand more and more over the living
forces of the soul, I develop conversely from the man of reason
towards growing concreteness. The intellect serves me more
and more as a pliant means of expression, after having been
my master once upon a time. All these progressive steps are
the direct result of increasing concentration. In all depart-
ments, with the partial exception of that of the fine arts, age
creates the most important work, although productive power,
as such, is probably at its greatest height in all people in the
thirties. This is due to the fact that the mind only becomes
collected at a later period to the degree which permits one
to see altogether what he has discovered long ago.

The exemplary quality in Indian culture is to be found in
the fact that it has emphasised like no other the importance of
concentration. What I have said in the above concerning
Yoga only refers to a fraction of that which this concept em-
braces for the Indian: for him it embraces all struggle for

CHAP. 28 BENARES 273

culture. The raising of the faculties for recognition is, after
all, only a technical matter; however different the direction
may be, the problem lies on the same plane with our efforts to
make the forces of the outer world serviceable to us. We have
changed the world by means of a given instrument. The
Indians have devoted themselves primarily to the perfection of
the instrument, and it is only possible to decide which alterna-
tive is to be preferred in reference to presupposed practical
purposes. The absolute superiority of India over the West
depends upon the fundamental recognition that culture, in its
real sense, is not to be achieved by way of widening the sur-
face, but by a change of plane in terms of depth, and that this
growing more profound depends upon the degree of concen-
tration* A concentrated individual is never superficial j in
the direction in which he has concentrated himself (which
need, of course, not be all directions, and not the most essential
one) he is necessarily profound. For this reason, Indian wis-
dom asserts that religiousness and morality can be acquired by
work; it is not considered teachable in the Socratic sense, but
attainable for every individual by way of conscious self -culture.
Only superficial beings are capable of irreligion; as soon as the
profundity of the soul shines through the surface, conscious-
ness of God is created. Only the superficial individual can
doubt the difference between good and evil, for it is a ques-
tion of an objectively real relationship which one either does or
does not perceive; and the perfectly profound man could only
wish good. For this reason everything depends on self -edu-
cation, on Yoga. It is a matter of complete indifference in
principle where you begin: as atheist or theist, as a moralist
or sceptic; views and opinions are always irrelevant; one has
to know. Knowledge, however, results inevitably upon in-
creasing inwardness.

That the degree of religious realisation (in its widest sense)
and that of moral discrimination is dependent upon the level of
profundity in which a man's consciousness is rooted, is certain.
And it is equally impossible to deny that man is capable of
becoming more profound. The best men in the West have
always recognised this fact. But India alone has known how to

274 INDIA PART ra

make this recognition bear fruit in general practice. This is,
as has been said already, the exemplary quality of this culture.
We would do well to rival it as soon as possible. What is the
essence of all that which to us seems blameworthy in our condi-
tion, is that our forces, differentiated to the utmost, have grown
into independent creatures to such a degree that we no longer
succeed in centralising them, and for this reason everything
ceases to exist which can only emanate from this centre. It
is said of the most highly developed modern man of culture
that he does not know how to love any more. That is so: he
probably possesses every element which belongs to love, and
he does so probably in a richer form than any previous indi-
viduals did. But he fails to synthesise them. Sensuousness
grows its own way, the same may be said of his idealism, the
same of his emotional inclinations, and so on. Full love he
never attains except in the paroxysms of passion. Quite logi-
cally, passion has become glorified in our day: the forces of
nature are valued above everything elsej once more the cry
goes up from the roofs of all towns, 'Return to nature.' They
represent an equal number of misunderstandings. Passion im-
plies a crisis, even among animals, and all great deeds which
are performed during this period signify nothing j under the
sway of passion weaklings appear strong, cowards courageous,
and yet they remain intrinsically what they were. As to the
'return to nature,' it is impossible to rise above a cultural level
which has once been attained by descending from it. Of
course we ought to become direct and genuine again, but
directness and being like animals are not synonymous con-
cepts. To return to the example of love: animal sensuousness
is often regarded as the whole of it, because it is something
direct, and this is hardly ever true of love in its higher form.
Sensuousness seems really to become the whole of love where a
cultured people approaches a condition of exhaustion. That
is what happened with the late Romans, and that is what is
happening to-day more and more in all the degenerate circles
of Europe. But where the force of life is not yet exhausted,
there a better way to directness exists: beyond differentiation

CHAP.28 BENARES 275

towards concentration. That is the path which India has trod-
den, that is the one on which we must march onward.

This path, and it alone, will lead us beyond our present con-
dition. The problem is to bring the emancipated forces, by
means of concentration, back to the centre of life, to make
strikers into organs ready to do service. There is nothing in
our state which we need to deny. The extraordinary breadth,
unique in the history of mankind, of the modern soul must
not be hemmed in, for it implies an absolute plus. The un-
equalled differentiation of our being is an advantage. We
must animate the whole of this rich body from the same depth
as that in which the Indian lives j we must make the surface,
which is all of which modern man is usually consdous, into
the mirror of profundity, and we must change the organs
from ends in themselves into means of expression. If we suc-
ceed in doing this we will undoubtedly reach the highest
human condition which has ever been presented hitherto. The
richer the means of expression, the better can significance be
manifested} God, for Whom the entirety of the world serves
as a means of expression, is, for that reason, more God than
man can be. On the other hand: the richer the means, the
greater is the power needed to control them. For this reason
the problem is much more difficult for us than for the Indians.
How often have I sighed enviously when I looked at them:
how easy it is for you to be profound ! Your surface is so small,
your body so slim, that it cannot be difficult for you to make
the whole of your nature into a means of expression for the
spirit. We fat, rich Europeans have to go through agony in
order to follow the path of your journey. . . . Then, however,
I said to myself: If we succeed in what you succeeded in — will
we not then be supermen? — Nietzsche's Superman only defines
the physiological basis j it therefore describes a way, perhaps
the way of the Westerner, but not the goal. The Supermen of
Theosophy, the Masters, are too far removed from this world,
too strange for men, in order to loom before us as models. I
do not know what Superman will be like. But he will undoubt-

276 INDIA PART m

edly be born, if at all, from the concentration of the whole of
our forces.

THE fact that the exemplary quality of Indian culture has not
been recognised earlier, and, when it was recognised, not always
with good results, is due to the incapacity of most people for
seizing a meaning independently of its appearance. Appear-
ances are never transferable anywhere, without doing harmj
they are always the product of certain relations which only
exist once, and hence they are only appropriate to a certain
condition. If Anglomania has not helped anyone, this is true
to an even higher degree of Indomania, and in the highest
degree with reference to the most important achievement of
India: its culture of concentration. It is very significant that
the Indian breathing exercises, which have been popularised
by Svami Vivekananda through his lectures in America, have
not helped a single American to a higher condition, but, on
the other hand, are reported to have brought all the more
into hospitals and lunatic asylums. Hatha-Yoga is considered,
even in India, as dangerous} many exercises have been branded
by all authorities long ago as unquestionably derogatory, and
they merely continue thanks to the ineradicable tendency of
all men to prefer dubious to undubious means. But it has not
been proved, even of the most harmless exercises among them,
that they are appropriate to the organism of the European} it
may be that they do more harm than good in the case of most
people. No matter how advantageous breathing exercises are
in general — there can be no doubt as to the correctness of the
idea, that breathing, as it were, resembles the fly-wheel of the
whole psycho-physical organism, and that perfect breath-
control leads to self-control in every respect — the particular
exercises in question depend entirely upon the given empirical
circumstances. The exemplary quality in the Indian culture of
concentration is its underlying idea, not its specific mani-
festation. As far as this is concerned, it can hardly be denied
that, from the point of view of our ideals, it leaves a great deal
to be desired} most of that which we take pride in is lacking in

CHAP.aS BENARES 277

India. But then the Indians have never pursued our aimsj
therefore we cannot reproach them with their failure.

In order to understand the truly exemplary quality of this
culture, it is well to think, not of Indian, but of Occidental
manifestations of the same idea (which, as such, have of course,
never determined development consciously in the West) : for
instance, Englishmen as a nation, and certain of the highest
types of American business men. The natural talents of the
Englishman are more limited than those of the German and
the Russian} but the former achieves more with the few he
possesses than the others with their abundance* One is often
surprised at the many-sidedness of English aristocrats, who
to-day are journalists, to-morrow viceroys, the day after per-
haps Ministers of the Board of Trade, and, if they happen to
have time, write good books on history or philology. As far as
this many-sidedness is concerned as such, Germany as well as
Russia could count for each many-sided Briton some fifty
much more many-sided individuals, but the Englishman alone
knows how to organise his riches in such a way that each
single element proves to be productive. The Englishman has
himself more in hand than any other European j for this
reason, he appears to be the most profound, the most pro-
found from the point of view of humanity and character. In
spite of the level of his culture, he is quite unbroken, a thor-
oughly integral unity, firmly anchored in his living depth, and
personally superior as no other European. He owes this to
Yoga. Not, of course, to Indian Yoga, but to the one which
was created by the ideal content of Puritanism and Methodism,
a culture of concentration no less intensive than that of India,
no matter how different in character. — The other Western
example for the importance of the fundamental Indian idea of
India is supplied by the foremost of the American millionaires.
Anyone who has met one of them and has enquired after the
formula of their success, will have been told: We work by
intuition alone, reflection does not carry us forward fast
enough. That means they operate continuously with a capacity
which is practised by the ordinary man only in exceptional
cases, only in making plans and in critical dedsions which do

278 INDIA PART m

not permit of delay. And this means further: they have
reached a level of development on which abnormal phenomena
seem normal, where the extreme limit of a former state has
been changed into the basis. This is precisely what is true of
the Indian Yogis. What gives them absolute superiority in
idea, so that one is justified before eternity in speaking of
Western manifestations of the fundamental Indian idea, is
that they alone have understood the meaning and the value of
their doings. Recognition is the most important thing in this
worldj only a truth which has been understood becomes alto-
gether productive. It need not concern us whether the Indians
themselves have got very far or not, but we owe them eternal
gratitude because they have perceived and revealed to all the
meaning of that which has ever been the soul of all inner
progress, no matter how unrecognised it was. Thanks to this
recognition, we, every people and every individual, will ad-
vance henceforth ten times more quickly than before in the
direction in which the natural tendencies of each direct him.

ALL heightened and highest expressions of life represent an
equal number of effects of concentration, which inevitably
conditions profundity. The sense in which it renders men
profound depends upon the spirit and the purpose in and for
which it is practised} it benefits every conceivable form of
culture. But of course: the man who is concerned with spir-
itual realisation and with sanctification will always have to
emulate the Indian. So will the artist bent on creating works
of the same spiritual significance as the Indians have created,
and their greater pupils in the Far East. We are already toler-
ably aware of the fact that, in spiritual expressive value, our
art is below that of the ancient cultures of the East; and we
also know that this is, somehow or other, connected with the
non-naturalism of their art. But most people are not clear in
their minds as to the real nature of Eastern artj they cannot
possibly be, for otherwise they would not fall into the error of
comparing Buddhist with Greek art, and the younger genera-
tion would think twice before they attempted to represent the

CHAP.28 BENARES 279

meanings they aim at by means of Eastern formulas. For such
a process cannot lead to a good end: the significance of Eastern
art is totally different from that of the West, and its forms are
appropriate means of expression only for its own.

What is the meaning of the specific 'Stylisation* (a bad
word), which is apparent in all Eastern pictorial art? — It does
not imply simplification from the point of view of reason. The
typification of the Greeks, which lies, more or less obviously,
at the bottom of all Western art, is rational in origin. Of
all the possible connecting lines between two points, a straight
one is the shortest; of all possible movements towards a goal,
the most appropriate is the best; of all conceivable architectural
structures, the most perfect is the one which simultaneously
takes the most complete account of the inner laws of the
devised mathematical figure, the materials employed and the
idea which a building is to embody (as a temple, as a palace,
etc.) : these are axioms of all rational art. These axioms suffer
only a slight transformation, but no change of meaning, when
the aesthetic centre of gravity is transferred from the work of
art to the observer: in this case preference is given to those
forms which in the reflected image realise best what has been
realised in the former case by the work as such. It is this spirit
from which the curves of the Parthenon, Michael Angelo's
Contraposto, and the infinitely complicated rhythm of Rodin
have emanated. It is the spirit of pure reason. It has become
fruitful through concentration. Just as concentration of reason
upon the processes of nature leads to the discovery of a formula,
which makes its laws, and accordingly its essence, appear much
more comprehensible to the mind than it seems in its concrete
embodiment, exactly in the same sense does the concentration
of reason lead the artist to a form, which in its simplification
makes clear to the eye what in nature it overlooks all too easily.
We must not be led astray by the fact that artists are usually
disinclined for reflection, and assert that they create purely
from their emotions, that the effect which a work of art has
gives far fuller satisfaction than the fulfilment of the mere
demands of reason could possibly do: the existence of a process
does not depend upon its becoming conscious, nor does the

280 INDIA PART m

multiplicity of effects' prove that its cause was not simple. Man
is essentially a rational being, and therefore that which corre-
sponds to reason, provided it appears in a sympathetic em-
bodiment, wakens the whole of the spirit of life, whereas,
conversely, all these spirits may have been concerned in the
creation of that which is appropriate to reason. All specifically
Western production of forms is based in principle upon con-
centration of reason.

. But this method enables us to take hold only of that portion
of life which involves groping from the outside to the inside.
For this reason our plastic arts have never expressed what our
music and poetry have been able to convey. It is the function
of both to give a body to feelings 5 poetry is a match for artic-
ulated feeling, music alone for the inarticulated, the most
vital, the profoundest of all. Why is it that these subjectivities
cannot be rendered objective in a picture? Because the greatest
possible concentration of reason does not lead to the Holy of
Holies of the soul. As we have always been rationalists as
painters, we have never been able to give direct expression to
the csouP in painting, no matter how marvellously we succeeded
in doing so in music. Our Madonnas and saints, our figures
of Christ, are absolutely earthly beingsj no more spiritual
because their expressions betray psychic emotion. The only
exceptions that I know of are a few masterpieces of the early
Middle Ages, which, however, are the children of a different
spirit, and also the paintings of Perugino. But in the latter
their religious quality, as has been proved by Berenson, does
not depend upon direct incarnation of the religious spirit, but
upon a special treatment of space which awakens religious
association in the observer. In order to be able to express
soul directly, the visible form would have to be a, direct ex-
pression of the soul, and would therefore have to be based
upon a different concentration from that of reason. To con-
centrate themselves in this sense is a thing which the artists of
the West have never known how to do.

That is just what the East succeeded in doing, thanks to
which they have produced works by the side of which we have
nothing to offer. From the point of view of reason, no work

CHAP.28 BENARES 281

of the East is a match for the art of Greece, but they cannot be
judged from the point of view of reason. They spring from
the same depth of life only as poetry and music do in our case,
and thus every means of gauging appears to be altered. Ration-
ality is not directly in question (although its existence can
always be proved because man happens to be a creature of
reason) j visible form appears now as the direct expression of
being, and as such it is often most convincing at the very time
when its meaning cannot be grasped at all by the intellect, as
in the case of a child's laughter or a woman's whim. Again
and again I must think of the dancing Shiva in the museum in
Madras: this many-armed, anatomically impossible bronze
realises a possibility which no Greek has ever allowed us to
suspect — it is simply a wild, undisciplined god, who deliber-
ately dances the world to pieces. — How is such a creation ar-
rived at? Only by the realisation of the God within us, and by
the ability to re-create this immediate inner experience as imme-
diately in terms of visibility. The artists of the East have ac-
complished this apparently impossible task. And they have
succeeded in doing so by virtue of what I have been writing
about during all these days: their culture of concentration*
We know little or nothing of the great artists of Hindustan.
But we know of those of China and Japan, their heirs, that
they were all Yogis, that they saw the only path to art in Yoga.
They did, of course, in their first student years, draw after
nature with the most earnest perseverance, in order to become
the complete masters of their means of expression; but they
regarded this merely as a preliminary. For them the essential
was the problem of absorption. They became absorbed in
themselves, or in a waterfall, a landscape, a human face, accord-
ing to what they wished to represent, until they had become
one with their object, and then they created it from within,
unconcerned by all outer forms. It is said of Li Lung-Mien,
the master of the Sung Dynasty, that his main occupation did
not consist in work but in meditating by the side of the moun-
tain-slopes, or near the brooks. Tao-tse was once asked by
the Emperor to paint a certain landscape. He returned with-
out sketches or studies and replied to surprised questioning: CI

282 INDIA PART m

have brought nature back in my heart' Kuo-Hsi teaches, in
his writings concerning landscape painting: 'The artist must,
above all, enter into spiritual relation with the hills and rivers
which he wishes to paint*' Inner collectedness seemed to these
artists to be more important than external training. And,
surely, the completely 'inward5 individual stands above reason,
for its laws live within his mind; he does not need to obey
them any more, just as he who knows is beyond good and
evil. As his knowledge unconsciously controls all his activity,
thus the knowledge of the artist- Yogi directs unfailingly even
the most capricious delineation. The rhythm of the Far East-
ern drawing is not of rational origin: it is an inner rhythm,
like that of music. If one compares' the design of Leonardo or
Diirer with it, one sees at once what the difference consists in:
the one is the outcome of the concentration of reason which
necessarily leads to the discovery of objective rules j the other
is the product of pure self -realisation, pure subjectivity con-
densed into form. Thus the East has succeeded in what has
never yet been reached in the West: the visible representation
of the Divine as such. I know nothing more grand in this
world than the figure of Buddha; it is an absolutely perfect
embodiment of spirituality in the visible domain. And this
is not owing to the expression of calm, of soulf ulness and in-
wardness which it bears, but it is due to the figure in itself,
independent of all concurrence with corresponding phenomena
in nature.

THE heart of the Yoga idea would perhaps be expressed most
adequately in the language of modern European thought in
the following sentence (for in every particular period a specific
embodiment seems best suited to the same ideas): it is the
mission of man to get beyond humanity as a condition of
nature, and it depends entirely on him whether, and how f ar,
he fulfils this destiny. Of all vices, that of inertia is the worst:
man must never surrender himself to it. Not that he is to
work at any price, according to the command of the West —
how senseless our deification of work would appear to the

CHAP.28 BENARES 283

Rishis! — but he should strive untiringly to give expression to
the Eternal Spirit which animates him, by increasing and
enhancing what is positive in himself and transmuting what is
negative into a positive quality. For the rest, every path leads
to the goal, and every one can attain to it. As Sri Krishna says
to Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gita: No matter how men approach
.me, I accept them just as they are} for all paths on which they
may wander are mine. And it is so. One single primordial
force flows through the universe, conditioning and animating
every formation, manifesting itself in all of them} thus, each
of them is not only an expression, but a possible perfect ex-
pression of divinity, and perfection is the goal. Every forma-
tion is capable, not in spite of, but because of its peculiarity,
of realising divinityj whether it succeeds depends upon the
spirit in which it lives. If it lives in the spirit of profundity,
of absolute inner truthfulness, then even the criminal reaches
God, for before Him the difference between good and evil con-
ditions, as such, is as nought. The criminal who does evil
in the spirit of truthfulness must needs recognise his mis-
take sooner or later, and this transforms his nature, as hap-
pened to the thief on the cross by the side of the Saviour, or to
the Marquise de Brainvilliers on the scaffold, and in the proc-
ess of this transformation the old condition ceases to be.
Such transformation always consists in recognition. All paths
lead to it. The shortest of all are the anciently recommended
ones of love, of selfless work, of the desire to understand} but
the path of egoism and not wanting to know lead there^ too,
in so far as they have been embarked upon in the spirit of
truth, for sooner or later those who wander in this spirit will
turn back. And all paths end in recognition. Recognition is
salvation. As soon as a created being has recognised its true
essence, it becomes God's means of expression, and everything
becomes radiant by a divine light. Then the opposites of good
and evil, happiness and unhappiness, welfare and woe, exist
no longer; then the soul is no longer discomfited} then life,
like the sun, becomes one single source of pure giving. Good
and evil are opposite only from the point of view of ignorance.
The facts on which the difference of judgment depends do

284 INDIA PART iii

certainly all exist, and will continue to exist as long as the
world, for otherwise no events could take place. What folly
even to hope that objectively it could be different one day!
What can be changed is the human state of consciousness.
When man has ultimately learned how to identify himself
with his true being, then he will see no greater evil in the
repulsive side of life than in the resistance of the vessels thanks
to which the circulation of the blood through the body be-
comes possible in the first instance.

From childhood on I have, in many important ways, thought
in the Indian manner quite naturally} and when the Upani-
shads came into my hands, I was not a little delighted, but also
said to myself proudly: everything that they know, you really
know too* One always recognises one's ignorance only when
one has acquired knowledge. Thus, it is only since I have
come into personal touch with the spirit of Hindustan, and
have been penetrated by its living influence, that I can judge
how little I knew then of what the Indians really meant. I
recognised myself in the Upanishads only because I had myself
entered into them. Of course, the spirit of profundity is essen-
tially the same everywhere} thus, all profound minds mean
essentially the same} and assuredly, Yajnavalkya, Laotse and
Eckhart understood each other in this way at their very first
meeting in Elysium. But essential unity does not exclude
differences in appearance} what I wrote down before was a
translation, not the original; as an appearance, Indian wisdom
is just as specific as any other individual form of life. If it
were not so, it would never have been able to create life; life
continues only through individuals, not through generalities.
I heard the other day that the family Guru gives to every
Hindu child a special name on the occasion of his initiation, by
means of which the child is to pray to God. This name is his
absolute property; he tells it to no one, and no one is allowed
to question him about it. It is assumed that in all the world the
child alone knows this name, and through it enters into unique
relations with Divinity. This is one illustration more of the
same truth. Only unique, individual, personal, exclusive
qualities can be the living vessel of universality. Thus, Indian

CHAP.28 BENARES 285

wisdom, in spite of its universality, is a monad into which no
one can penetrate, who is not possessed by it.

It seems to me as if by now it does possess me. I experience
more and more in the Indian manner, more and more do I see
the world and life in the light of the spiritual sun of Hin-
dustan. I will spend the last days which are left to me for
my stay in Benares in accounting to myself for the peculiarity
of Indian wisdom. But it is too late to begin to-day. The
whole town is already asleep. And to-morrow at daybreak I
want to be once more, as I have been so often, at the Ganges
in order to receive the blessing of the first rays of the sun.

NO philosophy on earth gives voice to the conviction that in
the domain of life significance creates the facts with such
radicalism as Indian philosophy. What a man does is said to
be completely indifferent} everything depends on the spirit in
which he does it. — And it is so. No matter how far we carry
this point of view, up to the extremest consequences: we still
find its principle confirmed everywhere.1 How many Euro-
peans have been estranged by the argument of the Bhagavad-
Gita, that from the man who has realised his self all actions
fall away, so that, for him, good and evil no longer exist ! And
yet what it advances is true, as appears immediately from a
more up-to-date expression of the same thought: the man who
always does what is in accordance with his deepest being
necessarily does right, irrespective of the impression his
actions may make upon others. One might suppose — what in
fact all Philistines imagine — that the actions of a godly man
must always appear good to every one, but this is not true,
not possible. It might be so if every one were as profound
and inward as he; but as this assumption is not correct, his
actions are often judged by others to be blameworthy, a fact
which is amply proved by the habitual persecution of the
spiritually great. Take the most ordinary difference, that be-
tween egoism and altruism. It is usually regarded as good to

1 1 have developed this line of thought in all its consequences, in particular
in the domain of history and politics, in my book Schopferische Erkenntniss,
Darmstadt, 1922.

286 INDIA PART m

consider the feelings and wishes of others ; the man who does
not do so is said to be blameworthy. But no truly deep man
can be an altruist in this sense, because he does not see a suffi-
cient motive in other people's inclinations any more than in
his own; he does to men what advances their progress most,
and only too frequently this does not meet their wishes j he
will sooner make them unhappy than happy, he will trample
upon their desires more often than fulfil them. Since he no
longer possesses egoism, he necessarily does not know altruism
either. — Another case which illustrates the truth of the Indian
teaching very well is that of the great statesman. Such a
man is generally admitted, at any rate after his death, to have
stood beyond good and evil, but why? Because, as every one
dimly guesses, the significance of his bloodiest actions does
not coincide with them. The man who pursues an ideal in
the turmoil of the world, by means of the world, cannot march
through life as cleanly as an anchorite j he will have to do
more or less harm according to the time in which he lives,
because, in one way or another, he has to operate with evil
forces as external factors. But whatever evil he may do
does not concern his deepest self; it concerns him only in the
sense of original sin, of racial karma (just as every one is re-
sponsible for the failings of his age, guilty of the guilt of every
one)j though stained with blood, he may yet be essentially
dean. The essential character of a man is decided by the spirit
in which he lives. Anyone who still doubts this fact should
remember that the man of action and the saint are concerned
with the same relation between facts and significance as the
man who kills as part of his duty. No one brands the judge
who passes sentence of death on a murderer, nor the soldier
who shoots countless enemies in battle. The element of duty
places a different value on the facts. The same is to be said
everywhere of the spirit in which anything is carried out: the
spirit decides ultimately concerning the facts of any case. This
is what the Indians have recognised with unrivalled clarify.

But they have allowed this recognition to determine the
whole of their life to such an extent that there are no facts for
them at all, but only symbols. Significance is regarded as

CHAP.28 BENARES 287

primary in opposition to facts to such an extent that they lose
all independent meaning. Facts, however, do possess a mean-
ing of their own, and this is overlooked. It is therefore not
surprising that they revenge themselves. The non-recognition
of actual conditions (such as is lately practised consciously
and systematically among ourselves by Christian Science)
would be all very well if the soul really had the power of
changing all other realities. But it has not got this power; it
can control them only in so far as it understands them. We
have become the masters of nature because we have learnt not
to ignore her laws but to exploit them. The Indians ignore
them altogether. They live in a world of purely psychic rela-
tions, which in themselves are real enough and almost always
profoundly construed, so that anyone who reflects upon them is
impressed by their inner truth. But the psychic links are less
strong and firm than the objective ones of nature j where they
contend with one another, nature wins the day. Thus, in the
life of the Indians, we are met everywhere by a curious strug-
gle: that which is full of meaning and inwardly true in the
highest degree means none the less superstition in practice j
the same, which appears as an admirable explanation from the
point of view of the soul, turns out in fact to be a purely arbi-
trary connection. Thus, the man who thinks that he can refute
the true meaning of Indian wisdom on account of the facts he
recognises as insufficient, is, of course, mistaken. But on the
other hand, meaning alone is of little assistance in the practice
of life. The life of the Indians has never been exemplary.
The leaders of all the people have failed to see that meaning
can only be perfectly expressed in appearance if it respects the
latter^s laws to the full. Thus, among the Indians, meta-
physical realisation all too often manifests itself in the form of
insufficient theory, the most genuine religiousness in the form
of gross superstition, and the prof oundest morality assumes
the appearance of the most dubious method of life.

I HAVE several times already referred to the Catholic char-
acter of Indian religiosity. No doubt there have been Prot-

288 INDIA PART in

estants among Indians: Devendranath Tagore, for instance,
the Maharshi, was decidedly puritanically minded} the man
who did not know that his autobiography was the work of a
Hindu might almost suppose that it had been written by one of
the Pilgrim Fathers of New England. But the general spirit
of Indian religiosity is strictly Catholic j all that is best and pro-
foundest in it is animated by this spirit} above all, the doc-
trine concerning the path which leads to recognition.

I will recall briefly once again what I mean by Catholic as
opposed to Protestant. Catholicism teaches that the recog-
nition of an objective order and the faithful obedience to
authoritative regulations, signify the road to salvation. Prot-
estantism, on the other hand, preaches that every soul should
strive to approach God in a personal, independent manner.
The latter is certainly not the teaching of Luther or Calvin,
but it is the teaching of the Protestantism which is alive to-day,
just as my definition of Catholicism takes into consideration
only its vital element. — The Indian, whatever his belief may
be in particular, thinks of the path to salvation in the Catholic
manner. He condemns the search after independent ways} he
regards trust in authority as the primary condition of all inner
progress. No great Indian, apart from the Protestant-like
Buddha, Mahavira and others, has ever doubted the quality of
revelation attributed to the Vedas and Shastras, and all have
condemned doubt as being a corruptive force. This means
that even the great exponents of knowledge among the Hindus
were profoundly imbued with the value of faith as a means to
recognition. The man who doubts is not considered capable
of becoming wise; and since it is only possible to have faith in
fixed dogmata and regulations, they all postulated their im-
mutability. All of them, have, moreover, demanded obedi-
ence to the Guru, the spiritual guide (just as all, even the
greatest minds among them, have been faithful unto death to
their own Gurus), because they know that teachings which one
man conveys audibly to another, who stands in a relation of
absolute receptivity to him, influence the subconscious more
powerfully than the same teachings could do when received
from one's own mind.

CHAP. a8 BENARES 289

Such a train of thought is as Catholic as possible. According
to the letter, all the theological doctors of the Middle Ages
taught the same thing, and among them, in part at least, Mar-
tin Luther. On the other hand, however, the Indians have
understood the significance of the same doctrine much better,
so that Hinduism has never enthralled souls as Christian
Catholicism has done only too often. Of course, the degree
of this servitude must not be overestimated. Theoretically,
Catholicism allows just as much freedom to the thinker as
orthodox Protestantism j only in practice the result is generally
different. Theoretically the Catholic Christian is at liberty to
investigate and think on all subjects with which intelligence and
reason can deal competently, and more cannot be demanded,
for beyond these limits reason cannot lead to recognition.
No matter how rarely this idea has been understood correctly,
it is there, and sooner or later it will undoubtedly become
dominant in its purity, when the Church sees no other method
of continuing its existence.1 The outer apparatus of the Cath-
olic Church, however, its ritualism, its ceremonies, represent
an absolute advantage, of which Protestantism, especially in
its extremest anti-dogmatic form, is beginning to be more and
more conscious. But to return to Hinduism: 'in Hinduism the
forms of belief which as such are preserved just as strictly as
the Catholic Christians preserve theirs, are regarded not as
substances but as forms for expression of divinity, and simul-
taneously as means to realise it. Accordingly, forms of belief
are taken less seriously than among us, they are never regarded
as metaphysical realities} on the other hand, however, they are
taken more seriously, since no Hindu doubts their appropriate-
ness. For the same reason, belief as such is taken more seri-
ously than I have ever seen it taken in Europe: the Hindus
know what f aith signifies; that it is a means, incomparable with
any other, for realising Being. For this reason there are no
freethinkers among highly educated Hindus, no matter how
many there are among half -educated ones, and even the acutest
minds reject with scorn the suggestion that they doubt funda-

1 See as to the possible great future of Catholicism my two lectures, Weltan-
schauung und Lebensgestaltung^w Der Leuchter, 1924 (Otto Reichel Verlag),

290 INDIA PART in

mental religious truth — unless, perchance, they have got al-
together beyond faith because they know from personal ex-
perience. The soul of the Hindu is cultured to such an ex-
tent that they differentiate clearly between belief and believ-
ing-to-be-true} they can believe in something without demand-
ing its objective existence. Belief is a means, it is the sovereign
means; the man, therefore, who does not believe is a fool. As
to the rest, he may think what he will, Meredith Townsend
tells the story of an Indian astronomer who, trained scientifi-
cally, calculated every eclipse of the sun to the second, but
every time one occurred he rushed to his drum in order to
frighten away the demon who attempted to swallow the sun,
and, in reply to Townsend's surprised query, replied with a
smile, that faith and knowledge surely were two different
things. He adhered to the mythical conception which, of
course, he saw through, because he knew from experience that,
thanks to the association of memories from his childhood, this
mythical conception helped him to realise divinity.

The Hindus are solely concerned with the problem of reali-
sation 5 everything else is a means to that end. They stress the
problem of realisation so exclusively that, for this reason, two
tendencies which have always played a prominent part in the
West are almost entirely lacking: the struggle after exactitude
of formulation (correctness of statements) and that after re-
newal; and this already gives Indian metaphysics an unmis-
takably individual character. In fact — what does it matter
whether a formula is scientifically correct or not, if only it calls
forth or makes communicable the experience on which alone
everything depends? And, moreover: why invent new forms
if the old traditional ones perform everything which new ones
at best could do? Thus we perceive a form of metaphysics
which is unrivalled in truth and profundity, which is being
confirmed more and more by our own preciser forms of re-
search, handed down in a body of theories which originate not
infrequently from the most primitive stages of thought. The
fact is that the Indians know what they mean j and their method
of teaching guarantees that the meaning is handed on from
Guru to Chelah in a living form; for this reason, they regard

CHAP.28 BENARES 291

renewal of form as superfluous. In fact, for this reason in
practice, for all their god-like tolerance, they are hardly differ-
ent from the narrow-minded Christians, they are actually often
more hostile to innovations than the Christians, because they
deny all individual value to mental images as such. This atti-
tude prevents the growth of real science, and accordingly
science has always been in a bad way in India, from the days
of antiquityj but the same attitude does assist spiritual prog-
ress.

From this fundamental Catholic tendency follows the
peculiarity of Indian philosophy which estranges the Westerner
perhaps most of all: their denial of the possibility of discover-
ing truth independently; it has to be revealed, it has to be
taught by one to whom it was revealed in his turn. One must
not believe that this attitude is only a trick of the Brahmins, as
undoubtedly a great many of their regulations are, which
serves to increase the prestige of the Gurus: it signifies a
fundamental attitude of the Indians, and is backed psychologi-
cally by sufficiently good reasons. In cases where work for
purposes of recognition does not consist in thinking, but in
the complete absorption in a given phrase, there revelation
can really only ccome5 to one, one does not win it; to put it in
the Christian way, it falls to one's lot, not by merit, but by the
grace of God. Now all Indians presuppose the existence of a
hierarchy of beings; they are accustomed never to practise
Yoga without guidance; they have no idea of unbiased re-
search: it is therefore only natural that they see revelation from
higher spheres in all recognition, and generally trace it back
to concrete beings. This again coincides completely with the
Catholic idea of authority. Only in this case it seems univer-
salised, so that it could never become a weapon on a large scale
for the priests, and, besides, what is more important, it has
never given the victory to a particular profession of faith. All
recognition is revelation; from this it follows that no man and
no institution can make capital out of its own particular revela-
tion.— This attitude explains a considerable portion of the
lack of originality among Indian thinkers: they lack every
impulse to wish to be original, for originality in our sense

292 .

INDIA PART ni

does not exist, according to their ideas j hence, too, the empti-
ness of their scholasticism} it explains too why the belief in
authority has been so exaggerated in India — with an exaggera-
tion which is probably unparalleled anywhere else on earth:
since all recognition is cgivenj $ar definition, therefore no higher
court is conceivable above authority. But on this point of view
is based, on the other hand, without question the unrivalled
substantiality of the Indian concept of truth, which in itself
implies the best key for recognition. Originality is really not
in question in matters of knowledge} there is no kind of
necessary connection between it and the conception of truth.
For truth is there, for every one to see, just like the sun; if the
man with sight has an advantage over a blind one, it is not his
merit, and the sun would shine even if he did not exist. — To
make a genius responsible for some recognition in the Western
manner, and to deify it accordingly, is in principle just as
ridiculous as regarding an individual as a superman who, by
pressing the button on an electric current, turns on the light*
Recognition means becoming aware, discovering, exploiting
given possibilities} being a genius means, having inherited a
superior instrument by nature: where, then, is the absolute
originality of the man who attains to knowledge? It is really
true what the Indians teach in their mythical form, that truth
cannot actually be discovered. And the fact that they under-
stood this is one of the main reasons why they have got so
marvellously far in metaphysical realisation. — The incompa-
rable Indian spirituality is based, moreover, directly upon this
attitude. If it is taken as an axiom that independent recogni-
tion does not exist, then the man who strives after knowledge
cannot feel haughty impulses, display the condescension of
superior knowledge, give vent to vain prejudice; he, on the
contrary, humbly surrenders himself. Thus the spiritual
truths which, are embodied in the holy writings find a mini-
mum of resistance in his soul, and can take possession of him
with ease. For the same reason, Catholic Christianity, in so far
as real religiosity is concerned, is in spirituality so far in ad-
vance of Protestant Christianity. That the former at the
same time is far behind the Indian spirituality seems intel-

S BENARES 293

ligible enough when one considers that the sacred writings o£
the Indians are the holiest of all in the world because they are
the deepest in recognition, and because they are unimpeded
in their sanctifying light in a unique degree, thanks to the
psychological culture of the Indian people, through misinter-
pretation and erroneous treatment.

The Rishis have from the beginning only been concerned
with spiritual realisation} they have gone further in this direc-
tion than all other men. Many of them have really attained a
state of consciousness which may be described as superhuman
— a state in which the mind lives unerringly in the sphere of
pure significance, in which it regards and understands every-
thing according to its true meaning. But for this very same
reason they have expressed themselves so very indifferently,
and have never given ideas of anything like such great vitality
to the world as those of Plato or Hegel. The man who stands
on the level of consciousness which the greatest Indians have
attained is as directly conscious of the meaning of things as
the average man is of the physical outer world; he does not
need to possess originality to perceive it. For this very reason
he cannot create mentally any more. All production emanates
from the depths of the unconscious; one does not create what
stands in front of one already. That is something which at
best one may copy. Thus, the Rishis were, as writers and
thinkers, copyists and nothing more* This explains the trivial-
ity of their style and the lack of vitality of their ideas. Our
great thinkers have never attained the state of consciousness
in which one sees truth spread out like a landscape; for this
very reason they were able to give birth to it. Thus, what they
have recognised has developed into creative ideas, and con-
tinues to operate, as no Indian thought has ever been able to
do.

THE Indian sages were only concerned with realisation;
therefore they could not see any value in originality. They
maintained that since that whose reflection in consciousness is
called truth, existed anyhow, the question of invention did not

294 INDIA PART in

arise* Discovery, however, did not imply personal merit, be-
cause man could only discover what nature or higher powers
revealed to him: 'Only he, whom He chooses, understands
him' (Ruysbroeck). As far as the embodiment of truth is con-
cerned, only established truths can be realised, those in a
condition of transition were useless. Moreover, the acquisition
of a new point of view involves expenditure of energy which
could be put to better account in a different way. Men of
faith, like those of action, are, as far as ideas as such are con-
cerned, inimical to originality out of physiological necessity.
Both create in a different dimension from the mental creator}
the latter translates ideas into inner, the former into outer
reality, as such they mean nothing to themj to them they mean
mere plans, outlines, points of departure, of value only in so
far as they are realised. Such natures deem all theorising idle.
Not only Napoleon but Bismarck too hated theorisers from
the bottom of their hearts, and both believed firmly in Provi-
dence. This belief was a physiological necessity to them: with-
out certain protection at the back of them, neither could have
advanced without apprehension. The case of men of faith is
the same as that of men of action. Being religious means
realising, wanting to translate spiritual values into life. In
order that a man can devote himself unrestrainedly to this task,
the values, as such, must be beyond question. He must there-
fore believe in dogmata, must cling unquestioningly to definite
concepts: whether, for the rest, he is tolerant or fanatical,
depends upon the degree of the culture of his soul, the width
of his mental horizon. The orthodox Christian in his presump-
tion, which makes him believe that dogma in itself embodies
salvation, wants to convert, coute que coute, every one who has
a different faith, and in the meantime he despises them. I have
never met a Hindu who did not believe absolutely in some
form of dogma, but, on the other hand, I have not met one
who wanted to convert anybody, or who despised anyone be-
cause of his superstition. The Hindus are cultured enough
to know that not dogma as such is the important factor, but
its effect upon life.
1 But the negative attitude of the Indians towards originality

CHAP.28 BENARES 295

possesses a still prof ounder reason than the one which has
been examined hitherto. The Rishis thought, from the depths
of their state of consciousness which permitted them to gain
a direct view of Significance: why put another appearance into
the world, since there are so many already? What are creative
ideas other or more than the little flowers which grow on the
lawn? What does it matter how far each individual one devel-
ops?— They thought thus, not as sceptics, but as omniscient
beings. It has often been remarked that scepticism and the
profoundest metaphysical recognition coincide on the surf ace j
and this is so. Sceptics as well as mystics realise the relativity
of manifestation, they therefore agree in its appraisement j
only the latter know what the former do not suspect, that
reality is not exhausted in relativity. They are conscious of the
essential being which expresses itself by means of appearance.
This is true, on a small scale, of every man of action, every
creator, every one, in fact, who takes anything really seriously,
and whom humanity has, therefore, by correct instinct, always
placed above even the cleverest doubter. But it is true of him
only on a small scale j hence the limitations of all men of action,
their one-sidedness, insufficiency, prejudice — men compared
with whom the sceptical observer has such an easy advan-
tage. On the largest scale the same is true of the sage: he
accepts all appearance, not equally indifferently, but equally
earnestly. Thus he is, like God, beyond all narrowness.

But can such recognition lead to a fruitful life? In the case
of God it does become fruitful. He knows the relativity of all
appearance, and expresses Himself, nevertheless, in each one
of them with the extremest one-sidednessj He knows the in-
sufficiency of every special manifestation, and yet this never
weakens His energy. The reason is, that He creates coher-
ently. As a unit of understanding, man can probably attain to
divine universality, but as a unit of action he remains strictly
limited} as a unit of life, he never gets beyond the one-sided-
ness of a particular form of existence. Thus, his all too pro-
found insight lames his forces. It need not do so, but it does
do so generally. It has done so in the case of the Indians.
Nothing can be said against the truth of their attitude.. Un-

296 INDIA PART in

doubtedly the ideas of Alexander mean no more than little
flowers to the cosmos j both are appearances in nature, each
after its own kind. The man who creates ideas does, in prin-
ciple, nothing different from a calving cowj when understand-
ing is developed and seizes hold of life, it is only one process
of nature among others. The struggle of artists for recogni-
tion, of the state for power, of humanity for ideals, is one form
amongst others of the general fight for existence, and progress
is a biological process for which parallels may be found every-
where. Thus, no form of ambition is essentially more than the
animal impulse for growth, no form of idealism more than one
exponent among others of the general striving of all life after
rise and enhancement, and whether this or that happens,
whether one masterpiece, one recognition, one act of heroism
more enriches the world, means little enough in its general
relation, all the less since significance is everywhere the same,
and does not gain anything from its own point of view by the
increase or improvement of its form of expression. Yes, the
ideas of Alexander mean no more before God than tiny flow-
ers. But would it have been well for Alexander to think thus?
Certainly, if he had been so great that he could, in spite of it,
have fulfilled his destiny as Alexander} but in that case he
would hardly have done so.

The Indians knew that no recognition may influence action
according to Dharma; this is in fact the underlying idea of the
Bhagavad-Gita. There, Sri Krishna teaches Arjuna that he is
to fight, no matter what he knows or recognises, for he was
born to be a fighter. The same underlying idea penetrates the
whole doctrine of non-attachment: kill ambition in thyself,
but act as if thou hadst been animated by extreme ambition}
throttle all egoism, but live thy special life as actively as any
egoist, love all creatures equally, but do not fail, for that
reason, to do next what lies nearest to hand. The Indians, in
fact, hiew everything. But knowledge and life are two differ-
ent things, and this is proved nowhere more impressively than
in their case. We know of no Indian who, as a living human
being, has realised^this wisdom on a large scale; and there are
probably fewer Hindus who do it on a small one than Turks

i8 BENARES 297

and Chinese. ^Herein lies the curse of that primate of the psy-
chic side of life which characterises the Indian condition of
consciousness as nothing else does. The Indians have always
put the chief accent in existence on psychic experience, that
is to say, on realisation of life in the psychic sphere. Thanks
to this attitude, they have gone marvellously far in their recog-
nition and vision of divinity; but, equally thanks to it, they
have never, as live, active men, been even a fraction of that
which their theory postulates. And this is only natural. If
the mind is centred in ^conceptual world, then thoughts are
born as independent entities without connection with personal
lifej this remains, in spite of all recognition, where it was.1
A different attitude is needed to produce a great man. Thus,
the Hindus illustrate with exemplary clarity the advantages
as well as the disadvantages of an existence purely devoted to
understanding. It leads to recognition as no other existence
doesj it leads men born to wisdom and saintliness, to a degree
of perfection which ^ seems unattainable subject to different
presuppositions j but it does not benefit the life of other men.
Lately the Hindus who have a command of English, stung by
European opinions which they disapprove of, have pointed
again and^again to the fact that Indian doctrines do justice to
practical life, and by no means preach quiescence. They cer-
tainly do not preach quiescence j as doctrines they are the truest
and prof oundest, most all-embracing and exhaustive, which
exist. But they have never had an effect upon Indian Ufa.
It is not good for the average man to know so muchj if
Alexander hears once that before God he is only a tiny flower
he, as Alexander, will abdicate only too readily. He decides
for himself that no particular existence has any purpose, he
does at most what is near at hand, and fills the position for
which he has been born as well as he can. He denies all ambi-
tion all too soon. The holy writings do in fact teach that only
the highest men are born to the highest lifej the rest are to
fight, to battle, to live actively, to be ambitious, for only such

1 1 have developed this trend of thought at length, with reference to modern
Western life, in my essay, Erscheinungswelt und Geistesmacht in Phttosophie
als Kunst, Darmstadt, 1920.

298 INDIA PART in

an existence could forward them inwardly. But who, except
the man of the very highest culture, is content not to be born
to the highest life? Once a condition has been proclaimed as
the highest, every one attempts to represent it after his own
manner. In the East ambition is generally considered as un-
dignified: this is a misfortune. It does signify the highest
achievement if a great individual is without ambition, but the
small one who has none does not get on. The Hindus, like
Christ, regard gentleness as the highest virtue: this is a misfor-
tune. No one but the man who possesses the passion of a Peter
the Great may dedicate himself to the ideal of gentleness}
those who are weak — and the Hindus are weak — are made
even weaker by it. To understand everything is regarded as
the highest aim: if men, who cannot understand, profess this
ideal, it obstructs their development like no other, for it turns
them into sceptics without energy. Thus, it is just the singular
profundity of their recognition which has become an evil to
the Indians as a people. It has made them slack and weak.
This is highly significant. It is once more an example which
India gives to the whole of humanity. It shows how little
good it does if every one strives after perfection in the capacity
of philosophers. This road is only appropriate to the very few
who belong to the type} it leads all others into destruction.
Thus, the Indian theory according to which the Rishi, the
Yogi and even the Sanyassi is regarded as the highest of all
men, means something different from what it appears to mean.
It does not mean that these types are actually the highest, nor
that all men could find their supreme self-realisation within its
limits: it means that, subject to the Indian presupposition, only
born philosophers and saints can become perfect, while other
men deteriorate.

THIS, then, is the real cause why the Indian outlook on the
world is being called quietistic, not without justice: it is not
their teaching as such which gives preference to non-action as
opposed to action, to apathy as opposed to energy, but this is
the way in which it has affected life. It is not only the theoso-

i8 BENARES 299

phists who have drawn special practical conclusions, against
which various things are to be said, from the theoretical doc-
trine of the ancients, who as such can lay claim to general
validity; the same applies to the Indians themselves. As phi-
losophers, the Hindus have raised themselves, as no other
people have done, above empirical accident; but their practical
lives have not followed the soaring flight of their minds j life
has, accordingly, unmasked the latter by presenting an over-
specified appearance, as a form of that hybrid which the gods
never leave unpunished.

Nothing general can become a life-force, only some particu-
larised thing can attain this; which means, in the case of a
philosophy: a particular interpretation, a particular practical
application of it. Thus, even the most universal teachings of
the Rishis have been understood specifically from the start.
Atman, according to the Vedas, rests within himself beyond
the realm of appearances, without name, without form, neither
suffering nor acting. The highest aim of existence is to become
one with him, that is to say, to become so profoundly inward
that consciousness takes root in the principle of life. Several
practical conclusions may be drawn from this teaching. The
Hindus have advocated the withdrawal from life into divinity
as the highest aim, thus wanting to juggle away creation.
Plus royaliste que le roi, wiser even than Brahma himself, who
thought it expedient to develop His own Being into a universe,
they have directed the whole of their efforts to get beyond
the process of growth. Thus the men who renounced the
world had to appear to them as the absolutely highest types
of humanity, they could not see any intrinsic value in the
fashioning of this life. I would draw the opposite practical
conclusion from the same doctrine, with equal logical justifi-
cation. We ought to recognise Atman within ourselves, 'and
then realise him in the world; we should assist Brahma, whose
partial expression we are, to perfect himself in appearance.
Regarded in this way, the Vedas' doctrines do not appear as
sterile but productive in the highest degree. Reason recognises
that our actions do not possess necessarily a relation to ourself :
we should get to the point that all of them reflect the Atmanl

3<x> INDIA PART in

The consciousness which corresponds to the primary synthesis
of the intellect is not as such our deepest self: it should be
developed so far that it serves the latter as a means of expres-
sion. And so on. If anyone had attained to such a condition,
if he had realised completely what is divine in his earthly be-
ing, the whole question of the difference between the absolute
and the relative would no loriger exist for him, then he would
neither have to affirm or deny it, since he would live as being
in appearance. The fact that the Indians have not chosen this
alternative, which they have recognised as the higher one
again and again, and which undoubtedly possesses every ad-
vantage, is to be explained by empirical circumstances: above
all, by the influences of the tropical world. They have changed
the Aryan immigrant more and more from an energetic into an
indolent creature, they have given to his life more and more
that character of vegetation which found its perfect expres-
sion then in Buddhism. It availed nothing that they overcame
Buddhism as such, which they did probably by virtue of the
unconscious recognition of its degenerating characterj its tend-
ency was the tendency of their own blood.

The question now arises: would the Hindus, as recognisers
and beholders of the divine, have reached such a singularly
high plane if they had been different as human beings? Would
they have realised the one thing which is needful to salvation
if they had been capable of giving expression to it in life?
Probably not. The great moralist is typically amoral, because
freedom from prejudice implies freedom from inhibition 5 the
man whose understanding is great is typically lacking in char-
acter, because he cannot regard any manifestation as being
absolutely the best one; conversely, the great man of action is
typically narrow-minded. Here the exceptions only confirm
the rule in so far as they do not belong to a higher level of
existence, on which the human laws of compensation no longer
operate. The fact that the Indians are conscious, as far as
feeling goes, of the one-sidedness of their natural disposition,
is proved by the fact of their Catholic outlook, their decided
disinclination to all Protestantism: they feel that they, being
all too free inwardly, require firm external forms so as not to

CHAP. 28 BENARES

301

disintegrate. It is further proved by the fact that they have
emphasised to an unheard-of degree, as the aim of life for all
those capable of recognition, the acquisition of perfect know-
ledge (not of great character, of a noble attitude, etc.): the
man who is essentially a recogniser can determine his develop-
ment only from reasoned insight. But no matter whether they
knew it or not, the fact remains. For purposes of the highest
perfection in the sphere of understanding and religious realisa-
tion, a natural basis is required which, if it does not preclude
perfection in other directions, at any rate makes it extremely
difficult. The people know this in so far as they are surprised
if a 'clever' man is simultaneously 'good'; science knows this
in so far as it declares that a higher degree of religiosity appears
very frequently in conjunction with a temperament which
science regards as 'pathological5; in the case of the artist, the
public opinion of the whole world is unanimous as to the same
relationship. Only in the rarest cases are such people altogether
valuable human beings. The position is, to give a biological
analogy, which is perhaps more than an analogy, as if 'geni*
operated in the man of recognition, of religion, or the poet,
which prevent the manifestation of the 'geni' of the man of
action, of character, of the ethical individual. In the former
case their real life takes place in the psychic sphere, and its
translation into and effect upon that which is 'real' life in
others, means almost nothing in reference to their being. In
order to acquire perfect recognition one must not only live
altogether for it, but to a certain degree one must be recog-
nition; one must live in recognition, as women do in love.
The man who does so cannot direct his primary energy to the
application of his knowledge to life, because it is already fixed
elsewhere.

It would therefore be ultimately a mistake to reproach the
Hindus with the fact that they have not proved themselves to
be as great in the world of practical, active life as in the world
of recognition and religious feeling. Their weaknesses signify
the purchase price of their virtues. Of course, all Hindus do
not possess the power of recognition, and those among them
who do not possess it are correspondingly inferior to Europeans

302

INDIA PART III

without this quality. But in the same sense the idlers of Europe
are incomparably worse than those of India. Every cultural
system is determined by the average character of the people
which created it, and education in its spirit and within its
limits must inevitably be to the disadvantage of those whose
nature differs from the average. The question may now be
raised as to whether some tendency of manifestation does not
possess absolute advantages over others? As, for instance, the
Christian European one over the Indian? Many favour such a
view; I cannot decide. If the greatest perfection of the masses
is to be applied as the gauge, it is quite possible that we have
chosen the better part. But are quantitative considerations in
question where essentials are at stake? — I content myself with
establishing the fact that India, and not Europe, has produced
the prof oundest metaphysics we know of and the most perfect
religious system.

Since psychic phenomena are primary to the Indians, in sa
far as their realisation in imagination is biologically equivalent
to the realisation in practice among us, it is obvious that the
man of recognition, of understanding, the anti-worldly vision-
ary and the ecstatic, must appear to them as the highest types.
That is what they are subject to Indian presuppositions. And
it is not to be wondered at that Indians look up in amazement
when Europeans ask them whether higher forms of existence
are not conceivable.

DO the Rishis, the silent sages from the Himalayas, not sig-
nify the highest type of men? Is a higher one conceivable? —
Both questions must be answered in the negative* The first
without further ado, the second because it contains a miscon-
ception.

The fact that the highest man of recognition is not simul-
taneously the highest kind of man, is conclusively shown by the
preceding observations j his type presupposes a temperament
which, limited as such, excludes many valuable possibilities.
The question as to whether a higher kind is conceivable con-
tains a misconception, in so far as it is based on the supposi-

CHAP.28 BENARES 303

tion that a highest kind could exist at all. There is no such
man, nor can there be such, because every definite type is
limited by boundaries which rob him of his value from a uni-
versal standpoint. No limitation is an advantage, no impulse
should be repressed j the absolutely highest man would be the
one who could embody perfectly all the potentialities of man-
kind; this cannot happen because every realised possibility
removes or precludes many others. All ideals which can be
rendered concrete are correlated to a definite natural basis;
in this way it is possible to conceive perfect Englishmen or
Frenchmen, perfect sages, saints, kings, artists, but not simply
perfect human beings, 'The perfect man,' conceived as a type,
is an impossible concept. The fact that humanity has not
understood this for such a long time has done incalculable
damage to it. How dearly we have paid for the heritage of
Christ! He too only signifies the perfection of a particular
type (which, incidentally, has changed according to the idea
which people have had of Jesus), and the process of raising it
to a general ideal of humanity has prevented millions from
developing their most promising traits. Hence the level
of culture of Christian humanity, which is so low in many
respects, as opposed to that of classical antiquity; hence certain
unclean characteristics, the result of repression, which distin-
guish Christians everywhere, even to-day, from members of a
different faith, to their disadvantage. The Indian philosophy
has in theory obviated these dangers in advance j but, as we have
seen, only in theory. In practice the idealisation of the phi-
losopher, who renounces the world, has lamed the power of the
men of action, has discouraged all external development and
accordingly devitalised the whole of life. Nevertheless, the
theory is indeed wonderful. It teaches, on the one hand, that
every type possesses its own dharma, and should only follow
this; on the other hand it affirms a normal sequence: out of the
dharma of the Cudra springs that of the Vaicya, out of that
of the Vaicya, that of the Kshattrya, out of that of the
Kshattrya, the dharma of the Brahmana, and the man who ful-
fils this perfectly is said' to incarnate the highest conceivable
type of man. It does affirm that the condition of the Rishi

304 INDIA PART m

is the highest ideal of humanity, but it teaches, on the other
hand, that this condition is attainable only by a special tempera-
ment, which, for its own part, is dependent upon the age of the
soul. The highest ideal is accordingly the highest, not really in
the sense of absolute general validity, but in so far as it repre-
sents the ultimately possible ideal. The Indians have thus, in
fact, perceived the truth, which remains true even if we drop
the mythical scaffolding upon which it rests. Undoubtedly
wisdom shows traces of age, undoubtedly it does not befit
youth; undoubtedly it makes appear old even a man who has
acquired it in his early years. But equally undoubtedly it
means the crown of life. It is impossible to be more than
wise. — If the Indians had been as far-sighted in practice as in
theory, one might indeed say that they had solved the problem
of life. But this supposition cannot be made. In spite of their
superior insight, they have regarded the wise man as the type
of example valid for everybody. This explains why modern
European humanity, in spite of its being coarse, earth-bound
and blind of soul, in fact, just because of its materialistic ideals,
which are the true ideals of its natural stage, is, on the whole,
on a highef level than that of India.

It is superstition — perhaps the superstition which we need to
discard most to-day — that the ideal is embodied in any definite
condition. No being stands isolated; from the point of view of
the universe the whole of living nature is one connected whole j
no isolated phenomenon is ever more than an element, and no
phenomenon is conceivable which sums up the others, which
would have to be the case if it were to serve as an example for
all. Every one of them is an organ of life, no more, and hence
only to be understood from the general point of view; it has
only a right to exist as a particularised entity, in interchange-
able relation to other, differently qualified organs. But there
are elements of differing importance; some possess great em-
phasis, some possess little, and the rest is attuned to those which
signify a great deal. The types which mankind has honoured
always as the highest, embody the fundamental tone in the
symphony; the better these are distributed, the richer and purer
their resonance, the more beautiful is their music. The saints

CHAP.28 BENARES 305

and sages embody the fundamental tones, whereas the other
types are only incarnations of semi- and over-tones: this is the
only sense in which the former are above the latter. This
description suffices to make clear the relation of the one to the
other, as it ought to be. The overtones are not to try to de-
velop into fundamental tones, but they should harmonise with
them: in this sense the veneration of wise and holy men is bene-
ficial to all. In so far as they are fundamental tones, their
existence is necessary — more necessary indeed than all the use-
ful activities of men of action: even if a fundamental tone has
been suppressed, or actually not struck at all, it has its effect ;
as long as the music is harmonised with it, all is well. For this
reason it does not matter that saints are rare, that a Christ, as
we revere him, has perhaps never lived. In this way it is
absolutely in order that the great men we honour pass through
metamorphoses in the course of time: where the melody changes
its key, the same must be done with the fundamental tones.
But they alone are insufficient j no bass viol replaces the or-
chestra; it is only within the orchestra that it comes into its
own. Thus the saint does not render the child of the world
superfluous, but both are directly dependent on one another.
From this point of view the old question of absolute values
appears to be solved. Absolute values certainly do exist, but
only in the sense of fundamental tones. The whole of life has
reference to them; one always succeeds in proving them to be
essential. On the other hand, it is impossible for ever and a day
theoretically to do justice to life from them alone, or to
organise it practically. Whenever this attempt is made, life
seems impoverished; it is as if the Pastoral Symphony were
performed by nothing but double basses. A Puritan outlook
has always done nothing but damage; where moral and spir-
itual values alone have been recognised as valid, this has always
happened at the expense of human perfection. It had to
happen like that. The absolute values in themselves are cer-
tainly embodied in the types of the saint and the sage, but by
themselves they are nothing; they presuppose all the rest.
For this reason it is ridiculous, erroneous, nay criminal, to wish
to destroy any kind of phenomena, which in their way are

306 INDIA PART ni

perfect, from the angle of absolute values: whatever these
phenomena may be, they do not antagonise the latter; these,
in fact, condition the former from within, just as the funda-
mental tones condition the treble sequences. Thus, even these
observations end in the recognition which has so often proved
to be the last word: perfection, specific perfection is the one and
only ideal which is appropriate to all. Whether a man is
born to be a fundamental or an overtone, concerns God alonej
man's duty is to ring with a pure sound*

Now it is clear in how far not only Buddha and Christ, but
also the great Indian recognisers, the Rishis, may yet be re-
garded as generally valid examples: not as types, but as per-
fected individuals. As types they signify special appearances,
only desirable as ideals for those who belong to the same type.
But as perfected individuals, as beings who have fulfilled their
possibilities perfectly, within the limits of some particular type,
they can and should be an example to all.

TO-DAY at sundown to take leave of Benares I went once more
to Sarnath, that field of ruins which mark the place where
Buddha delivered the first of his sermons which became
famous. Several visitors from Ceylon were present, among
these two yellow-garbed Bhikshus. They gathered round the
Stupa erected by Acoka,- and held a liturgical service amid a
tiny congregation of believers. What a contrast to the ritual
of the Hindu temples! How plain and simple, how uncompli-
cated is Buddhistic piety! — I let the atmosphere of Sarnath
take complete possession of my soul, and then passed in review
all that I had seen and experienced in Benares. Yes, Buddhism
can be welcome tidings to the man whose soul has grown sick
of wealth and multiplicity; who feels weary to death after so
many reincarnations, who does not care any more for progres-
sion, who only longs for the end. In Buddhism the sun o£
India sets; it contains the whole atmosphere of the twilight
hour, the entire sweetness of the hope of speedy rest, the whole
blessedness of loving promises: soon everything, everything
will be overcome*

CHAP.29 BUDDHA-GAYA 307

The atmosphere of Sarnath still has me in its hold To-
night I want only rest, rest at any price. And that makes me
think how wonderful it would be if Buddha had spoken the
truth when he asserted that it is possible to extinguish for ever.
But is it possible? Is there not a thousand times more Hybris
in this idea than in that of thousand-fold reincarnations? The
gods did regard the undertaking of Buddha as Hybris, and he
knew very well what an immense task he had accomplished.
The whole of creation, from Brahma downward, must continue
for ever, only he, a son of man, succeeded in stepping out of
the circuit. . . . The Nirvana of Buddha differs from that of
Hinduism} to the Hindus it means a positive condition, Bud-
dha envisaged it essentially as the end. He has revealed
nothing concerning what it is, he has left open all possibilities}
but his emphasis lay unquestionably on the idea of an ultimate
end. This gives its unique atmosphere to Buddhism, its sweet
sundown colouring. Of all the twilights of the gods which
there have been, the one to which the sermon of Benares
gave rise resembled twilight most.

29
BUDDHA-GAYA

\ MARVELLOUSLY spiritual air breathes in this holiest site of
jt\ Buddhism. It is not the atmosphere of Buddhism as such,
as I felt it only the day before yesterday in Sarnath. It is not
that of devotion in general, as on the Ganges or in Ramesh-
varam, nor yet the atmosphere of consecration which sur-
rounds every great monument: it is the peculiar spirit of a
place where a particular man whose greatness stands alone in
history has found his self. Much may have contributed to the
fact that this spirit has been preserved in such strength and
purityj that it is reborn unaltered in every receptive mind.
The chief reason is undoubtedly the fact that Buddha received
his revelation even here, in the shadow of the very Bodhi tree
which spreads its branches out to-day— a revelation of such in-
tensity that it continues to shine on and on in millions of souls.

308 INDIA PART m

Then Buddha-Gaya represents an historic monad of such ex-
clusiveness as only very few places on earth j I could only name
Delphi to equal it. Shut off in an artificial valley, the sanctu-
ary rests, in a world of its own, in which every detail recalls
the great days of yore; many an integral part of the stone
walls, of the daghobas, is said to date from Acoka's time.
Finally, the pilgrims contribute to the renewal of the reverbera-
tions as they die away. Buddha-Gaya lies far from the realms
in which Buddhism flourishes to-day; not many make their
pilgrimage hither. Those, however, who are not put off by the
long journey are in earnest; they do not come for idle curi-
osity. To-day a few Burmese, a few Japanese and a dozen
Tibetans are here; all of them deeply impressed by what Gaya
means for mankind, and thus their souls vibrate in harmony
with the atmosphere of the place itself. The most profound,
the holiest peace reigns here; all voices are lowered of their
own accord. And the ancient trees sof tly, softly whisper their
great memories.

Buddha-Gaya is, for my feelings, the most sacred site of the
whole earth. The teaching of Jesus was prof ounder than that
of Gautama, but he was not so superior a man as Buddha. He
was one of those sunny natures which appear upon the dark
earth every now and again, a Sunday child, upon whom the
spirit had descended as a pure gift, one who, according to
human ideas, was not responsible for what and who he was.
He was really a god amongst men. But the born god means
less for us than the man who has raised himself to be a god, and
such a one was Buddha.

The Buddhistic legend recounts that the gods prayed before
Buddha, the man; and this legend does not seem incredible to
the Brahmins. The Indians, as opposed to ourselves, have
always understood and interpreted correctly the relationship
of merit and grace. Undoubtedly supreme revelation is given
to man only by the grace of God, but grace never comes unde-
servedly; it is the necessary crown of merit. What the mystic's
manner of speech wants to say by the experience of the invasion
of grace, is that passage through a critical point, that apparent
solution de continuite which lies everywhere in nature between

CHAP. 29 BUDDHA-GAY A 309

conditions varying in quality. Just as after a constant rise of
temperature water suddenly disappears in steam, or, after con-
stant sinking, suddenly turns to ice — so does the condition of
grace follow upon that of merit. Of course, 'merit' need not
be meritorious in our sense: the ways of God do not necessarily
correspond with the postulates of reason and morals* Ingenu-
ous sinners are generally nearer to salvation than cautiously
upright men. But grace never falls to the lot of him who is not
'in seinen dunklen Drange des rechten Weges wohl bewusst3
(Goethe), who is petty, cowardly, mean} it presupposes a qual-
ity of will and of inner truthfulness, which raises their most
imperfect owners high above all virtuous people. The mass of
humanity suspects that there is an upward path, but it does not
know how and where it begins. If children of the sun like
Jesus appear on the horizon, humanity reveres them, perhaps
also believes their promise, but is hardly encouraged, for the
distance seems too great and the road to them not clear. If,
however, some one arises from their midst, a man like the rest,
who, as it were, works himself beyond humanity, then human-
ity is filled with joy, gains wings and follows him, full of hope.
It was ever thus. Through the example of Christ, as such,
Western humanity would never have been stimulated to make
the ascent j He was too immeasurable} nor is He the father of
Christianity. If St. Paul had not appeared, a man who, being a
child of the world, was intelligible to every one, yet finally
grew to be a saint, we would know nothing of Jesus any more.
And that Christianity developed into a world religion, into glad
tidings for the whole of the West, is the desert of St. Augus-
tine. This most powerful of all ethical natures the West has
produced gave the human example thanks to which only Christ
Himself could become one. His life proved that sin implied
not only an obstacle but also assistance, that it is precisely the
barriers of nature which make it impossible to overcome her}
that imperfection is the very substance of which God stands
in need in order to take shape in man. Thus his example
applies really to every one. — But Buddha was even greater
than St. Augustine. He started from a higher level of human-

3io INDIA PART m

ity, he had prof ounder and richer experiences, and he ultimately
reached a height of superiority as no other personality in his-
tory. He was so great that one impulse sufficed to keep the
wheels of good law in motion until to-day. Buddhism did not
have a St. Paul nor a St. Augustine. Sanbuddha was all in all

The scholars often wonder, in their simplicity, which is their
divine right, as to why Christ and Buddha mean so much
more than all the great spirits of the world that preceded and
succeeded them, since the former has taught nothing which
has not been proclaimed before and after him, and the^ latter
was undoubtedly behind his predecessors in ^profundity of
recognition: the reason for their greater significance is that
the word in them did not remain the word, but became flesh j
and that is the utmost which can be attained. To appear wise,
nothing is needed but the actor's talent, to be wise in the
ordinary sense j it only requires a prominent mind: before a
man turns into a Buddha, the highest which he has recognised
must have become the central propelling force of his whole
life, must have gained the power of direct control over matter.
How easily the substance of thought can be moved! How
easily it can be turned into the most glorious form! To shape
the whole ego in the same sense, so that every single impulse
becomes an organ of the ideal— this presupposes a degree of
strength which appears supernatural. This strength is latent
in every one, just as the smallest molecule contains sufficient
energy within itself to explode a whole kingdom into the air,
provided the energy became liberated. But man does not con-
trol it j only the superman can operate with it. He in whom a
recognition, in itself less profound than that which a Vyasa may
have possessed, has become the creative centre of his being,
is more than all the sages have ever been.

It is deeply significant that the greatest of all Indians did not
stop at Yogiism; that, after having first striven after the tradi-
tional ideal, he subsequently renounced it. Buddha is the only
Indian who has understood that no given condition, no matter
how lofty it may be, embodies an absolute ideal ; that the Yogi
as such is no nearer to the goal than the courtesan} that perf ec-

CHAP.29 BUDDHA-GAYA

tion is the one thing that counts. And because this knowledge
became life in him, because the 'word' became 'flesh/ not as a
gift from above but in the course of natural growth, accelerated
by intensive self -culture — therefore, Buddha is the greatest
example in history. He was the first in whom the fundamental
Indian recognition became really fruitful, that it depends upon
us whether we remain human beings or whether we grow
beyond all limitations by name and form. The Rishis used this
recognition to fly beyond the world of appearances, the Yogis
generally use it to climb to a higher ladder in the same world.
Buddha alone amongst the Indians has understood it correctly
and applied it perfectly correctly for his own person: hence
the enormous creative power of his example, which promises
to be more fruitful to-day than it has ever been. Buddha's
teaching is assuredly nothing less than free from the limitations
of name and form; it is only an interpretation among others of
the fundamental Indian idea, and of all those which have be-
come effective, perhaps the most superficial. But Buddha was
not a thinker at all. It would be doing an injustice to him to
judge him by the content of truth of Buddhistic teaching. To
him this teaching meant something different and essentially
more than its wording permits us to suppose, and this signifi-
cance determines, even to-day, for the most part, the character
of Buddhism. The four noble truths, almost trivialities in
themselves, contain a spiritual kernel, which is effective even
in the meanest shell. Buddhistic doctrine is in truth only a
stammering, like so much of the highest possessions of human-
ityj a stammering which yet again and again is understood, and
in some mysterious way wakens and creates more life than
most of the more articulated wisdom. But it is, all the same,
not Buddhism which conditions Buddha's unique greatness: it
is the living example which he gave. That is the explanation
why in India, where no reality subsists, where all historical
figures melt into dreams in a twinkling, this one man has con-
tinued to live in memory, word and image, as he wandered
upon earth.

I think again of what I wrote down in Benares concerning
saints and sages as fundamental tones. There was one thing I

312 INDIA PART ra

forgot to mention then: in what sense Buddha embodies a
deeper fundamental tone than all the Rishis. He does so in so
far as life is more profound than recognition. A word turned
to flesh means more than the word in itself. For this reason
the holy man stands above the wise one.

30
IN THE HIMALAYAS

THIS morning, long before the sun became visible, I saw
the giants of the Himalaya catch its rays. The earth lay
invisible in the darkness of nightj at the height of clouds
pale mists floated along in the uncertain twilight. The summits
of the Himalayas, however, high, high above the clouds, began
to glow at the first greetings of the day.

Yesterday, when I arrived, the sky was overcast, but again
and again a sharp wind rent the grey shrouds, and I was in-
formed that for short moments I might perhaps be able to see
the Kinchin-yonga. I looked for it where a mountain-top, some
hundred miles distant, should have appeared in accordance
with the experiences I had gained in the Alpsj however, I
found nothing j until suddenly I raised my eyes: there, where
I only suspected heavenly bodies, glistened its eternal snows.
„ . . I have never faced such overwhelming substance. The
Himalayas are not a mountainous group like others 5 it seems
as if the moon had burst and suddenly planted itself upon the
green earth, so cosmically great, so unearthly, so out of all
relation with the manifestations of this planet do they appear.
Far, far from the point on which I stand my gaze reaches over
mountains and valleys, the chains folded one above the other
to the height of the loftiest Alpine peaks, the valleys carved out
to the depths of sea level. Formation is laid upon formation,
flora upon flora, fauna upon fauna 5 sub-tropical vegetation
gradually changes into Arctic; the realm of the elephant is suc-
ceeded by that of the bears, and finally of the snow leopard.
And above these worlds the real Himavat only begins. — One
thing is certain: if the realm of gods lies anywhere at all, it lies

CHAP.30 THE HIMALAYAS 313

here. ^ I am reminded of those reliefs in Ellora which represent
the giant Kailas attempting to kill the sleeping Shiva by caus-
ing the Himalayas to reel: having been wakened by the anxious
Parvati, the god lowers one foot from his couch and casually
crushes the Titan. It seems to me that here no overwhelming
imagination is required in order to invent overwhelming pic-
tures. In the midst of such nature extravagance comes of its
own accord. Formed by exaggeration, it forces others to exag-
gerate. Here the greatest imaginations appear too small.
Joyously, the spirit leaps over all barriers, triumphantly it
transgresses all boundaries. What was, if not my first, then
certainly my second thought when I beheld these giants?
That the spirit could move mountains! Every doubt of it
appeared, laughable. Whenever a humanly limited thought
shot through my brain, it seemed to me as if from yonder,
from the eternal snow, there sounded the metal laughter of
Shiva, and for sheer shame I had to join in his mirth. . . .

In the midst of a nature, which builds up such mountains, a
Mahabharatam may very well be created. All the grandeur of
Indian mythology is preconceived in her. How well can I
understand to-day the significance which the Himalayas possess
for the Indian consciousness! Within their domain lies Shiva's
paradise; even there the holiest of rivers rises. In the Hima-
layas, the Munis and the Rishis dwell, and all those who
thirst for wisdom strive up towards them irrepressibly in an
unending chain. From the Himalayas, the Vedas have come,
so have the Upanishads; all inspiration emanates from them
even to-day. This is probably true. Never have I, the
stranger, felt such wings given to my soul. It seems to me as
though a thousand spirits were at hand, glistening like the
eternal snows in the morning light, laughing gaily like lately
wakened children, confidential as if they had always known me,
to strip my soul of all prejudice. Now they call me: Come!
And they are running ahead of me into infinite space. Canst
thou not follow? — I am coming soon. But I cannot treat this
divine freedom as lightly as you do. Where you are laughing
and playing, I feel awed. It makes me giddy to soar high above
all that which lately bound me on all sides. And I do not

314 INDIA PART ra

yet understand how this is possible. — They laugh: what is there
to understand? It is a matter of course! — Is this the secret? —
I feel as though, in some mysterious manner, in some indescrib-
able sense, light suddenly began to shine in mej as though new
and never-suspected paths of recognition were opened to me,
as if all earthly barriers fell away, and the world of men gave
place to a new world. I now behold what was previously in-
visible, relations and connections of quite a different kind from
those which I had formerly perceived, and, together with the
world about me, I am becoming changed myself. I now recog-
nise myself as the sun-like source of boundless power, cease-
lessly giving, ceaselessly pouring out without hindrance or re-
sistance. No problem disquiets me any more, and I can no
longer understand my former research after truth. — The spir-
itual light is extinguished in the same sudden and mysterious
way as it flashed up. The old problems appear again, and seem
no more soluble than before. But in my heart I now can guess
their meaning. When the light of Brahma has been kindled
in a soul, then the problems cease to exist: that is the solution
of the world's riddle. As questions belonging to earthly con-
sciousness, they are unanswerable. In themselves they are
equations whose premises are false, and which therefore cannot
be solved. The relation of the man fettered to earth with the
man who knows, resembles that of the ant with the human
being who crosses its path: no matter how certain the ant is by
instinct, it cannot help itself when faced by problems which
must appear transcendental to its organism. Just so is the case
of the man who attempts to solve the riddle of the universe.
From the angle of reason, it is insoluble. Reason lacks too
many data; it cannot overlook the whole situation. And man's
state is worse still than that of the helpless animal, because
he knows how to question that which is beyond his power to
reply to, because his consciousness represents an unhappy half-
way stage between blindness and omniscience. — But it is given
to man to rise above himself, the God within him is nigh upon
awakening. One day, unexpectedly and suddenly, the light of
Brahma will be kindled in his conscious soulj and this light ex-
tinguishes all human problems. — It still sheds its afterglow in

CHAP.SO THE HIMALAYAS 3^5

my imagination j I still feel my humanity as something alien,
burdensome; and as if I were one of the genii who flit about
me, I would like to laugh at the misery of the world. Don't
you see? Just look up! Understand! . . . How can they
understand? Even I have only understood, I understand now
only dimly in my memory. And if I am to give voice to what
I mean, I cannot do so. The words I call forth turn back,
thoughts take flight. They cannot grasp what I know, they are
afraid of being burst asunder. And if I force them, my wis-
dom sounds like folly. There is no evil. ... Of course that
is nonsense, not sense from the angle of human consciousness.
It therefore seems useless to speak to men about it. There
would be no purpose at all if, even in the most benighted con-
sciousness, there did not live a suspicion of the light, a light
which slowly, from incarnation to incarnation, devours the
darkness. If it were otherwise, Christianity would never have
been brought to believe the paradoxical teaching of Jesus, nor
would the Indian people have seen their highest ideaHn re-
nunciation, or Buddhistic humanity be striving after Nirvana,
within which everything that makes the sum of life is supposed
to disappear. ... We all know more than we think is know-
able. This knowledge dictates to us our ideal, inspires our
longing. As unconsciously and knowing beings we cling to the
paradoxes of religion, and shall cling to them unto the last day,
on which the light of Brahma will at last become the light of

all.

In the Himalayas man is marvellously near to God. This
nature widens the limits of consciousness more than any other
upon earth. All petty connections are severed, and the widest,
apparently even the most extreme, sway uncertainly in the air,
like soap bubbles, ready at any moment to dissolve m the light
of the Highest Sun. And in the vast space which is thus
created, over-powerful forces pour in from above.— I gaze
upon the ridges of the Himavat with boundless longing. It 1
could reach up into the pure air of the gods, would the scales
not fall from me for ever? Would I not breathe freely there
at last, in the blessed knowledge that the word: I knew it! is
fulfilled? From year to year I feel more strongly within me

316 INDIA PART m

the powerful presence of something higher, something new,
which presses towards manifestation. I feel that I am being
driven bodily upwards from below. Nowhere have I
felt it so strongly as I do here. And gratefully would I like
to pray before Shiva's paradise, whose vision brings such bless-

ng.

EVERY time that my gaze rests upon the giants in front of me,
the verse comes into my mind like a refrain: 'Faith can move
mountains.' This truth has never appeared such a matter of
course to me as here, where matter seems so overwhelm-
ingly powerful. Instead of limiting my sense of freedom it
increases itj just as all consciousness actually grows out of
opposition.

Mind can move mountains. (The usual wording which
gives such power to faith is too narrow and, moreover, liable
to be misunderstood: it is not confidence as such which brings
about the miracle, but faith gives to the mind complete posses-
sion of its power.) Of course it can do so. It is ridiculous to
doubt this truth, almost as ridiculous as the desire to prove it in
particular. For what do I do when I will something, when I
think, when I act? As mind, I influence matter j in principle
there is no difference between the most ordinary gesture of
the moment and the miracle which a magician may perform.
My own conceptual world is an external world as opposed to
the ego, just as much as the most distant star in spacej so far as
the laws peculiar to matter permit it, precisely so far has the
mind power over it. This limit, of course, may not be trans-
gressed, for, were it to cease, nature herself would vanish}
but within this boundary nothing is impossible in principle,
and within it there lies the world.

I have, therefore, essentially much the same relationship to
the snowy summits of the Himavat as to the body which has
served me as my nearest instrument now for more than thirty
years. Even this is true only in one respect, that I am physi-
cally further from them than from myself: with my eyes I
touch them directly, in thought I am with them, and on them j

CHAP.30 THE HIMALAYAS 317

for in so far as one can speak of space at all in connection with
thoughts, they are wherever one attaches them. There is no
point in the universe to which I could not be as near as I am
to myself. Whether I am or not depends upon the direction
of my attention; one can literally be far from, in fact outside
oneself. It is thus no doubt literally true what Indian wisdom
teaches, that isolation is ultimately caused by egoism (Ahan-
kara) and disappears as soon as this has been overcome: if all
my mental energy flowed from me like the rays of the sun, if
none of them returned to me tied by interests to my person,
then I would be free as well as unlimited. And such a process
of liberation is possible, for there is no insoluble connection
(just as, on the other hand, there is none which cannot be estab-
lished) between the mind and the processes of nature. This,
then, would appear to be the meaning of that condemnation of
self-interest on which all higher religions are agreed: through
selfishness man reduces himself* With every thought which
does not radiate into infinity, but returns to the body from
which it emanated, man cuts himself off from his own wider
reality.

I look round about into the glorious world which I could feel
myself to be if I were more free from my person. Objectively,
as nature, I am firmly tied to her: I am only a centre of force,
among others, in unending continuity. But I could know my-
self to be one with her, could be her conditioning centre, as
a conscious self, in so far as I took deep enough root in my
being. Why have I not yet reached that point, since I have
known for so long what really matters? — Because my nature
has not yet been wholly penetrated. My spiritual consciousness
has not yet entered into the body of my passions. They con-
tinue, uninfluenced, their own existence. They even grow
instead of shrivelling in their platonic realm, and every time
when spiritual progress has taken place in me, I am compelled
to recognise that they too have gained in strength* They,
however, are blind. They need not remain in this condition.
It must be possible to relate them back to my deepest self, to
gain their elemental power as my willing tools. But I do not
know yet how this is to be done. I am still at the stage where

3i8 INDIA PART m

life in the spirit, as in the case of the Indians, means soaring
above matter. . . .

There still are times in which I would like to be great in the
earthly sense. But here, in the midst of this grandiose nature,
no pettiness can abide. While I am looking out upon the
snow-covered peaks, which are just beginning to glow in the
evening light, a nameless longing burns within me to get
altogether beyond the limits of personal existence.

IT is in these mountainous forests that the Mahatmas are said
to dwell, the silent, unrecognised supermen who guide un-
selfishly the destiny of mankind. They have got beyond the
limitations of matter. Externally they are like us; they possess
a mortal frame, and appear even less than our great men do as
far as the wealth of their human power is concerned. Yet they
are more than men because they are completely free. They
are only fettered because they wish to be so, they do not need
to die nor to be born again; wherever they wish to be, there
they are present; whatever they turn their attention to, they
know. Their consciousness embraces the world; they leap as
spirits from star to star, just as we do from memory to memory.
They act in silence, in secrecy. Only very rarely do they inter-
fere visibly with earthly events. But they train assistants in the
stillness who are to further their plans in the visible world.
Whenever a struggling child of man seems ripe to be translated
into a higher dimension, the master meets him lovingly half-
way and points him the road to a newer and higher course.

Whether this legend corresponds to truth I know not; but it
pleases me to-day to give it credence. As I roam alone through
the woods, and cast my eyes far over stream and valley and
to the snowy glaciers' tops, I envisage this superhuman exist-
ence, and hope at every turn of the road that a Mahatma might
suddenly stand before me. Would he not become aware of
me, or would he really refuse to come over to me on the wings
of merciful thought? For I need him so badly. Just now I
find myself again at a point where I am undecided as to what
course I am to take. It is true that my subconscious has always

CHAP. 30 THE HIMALAYAS 319

known the right direction, and no doubt it is the same to-day.
As a youth, when as a spirit I was yet unborn, I never-
theless, not seldom, in defiance of all reason, prepared in ad-
vance for my fate} I have rejected all occupations which did
not correspond to my best future. I have spent many a year
experimenting in laboratories without any real interest, as if I
had been clear in my mind that such training was absolutely
necessary, and I turned my back upon the study of nature, with-
out being really conscious of the cause, the moment it ceased
to advance me. During the periods of physical depression I
have hastened, with the instinct of migratory birds, to the un-
known latitudes which were to benefit me, and equally un-
erringly I have all my life prevented myself the fulfilment of
my dearest desires which would have broken my destiny. And
yet, had I been left to myself, I would not even have attained
my present very elementary stage: at all the critical moments
I have met kindly people who helped me on. There is some-
thing marvellous about the example seen with one's own eyes
and the influence of the spoken word. No matter how much
we strive, nor how strong-willed we are, the subconscious fol-
lows auto-suggestion never so well as the suggestions conveyed
by others; if it were otherwise, there would be need neither^ or
teachers nor doctors, neither for schools nor hospitals* This is
proved especially where we are concerned with a new beginning
or with progress from a new basis. To traverse a road which
one's consciousness clearly surveys, no guide is necessary, be-
cause here one knows and knowledge gives the right direc-
tion from within. The sinner, however, no matter how near
he may have come to the gates of sanctification, does not know
it, for his consciousness is held fast in the meshes of sinj ^the
caterpillar can only feel as a butterfly when it has turned into
a butterfly. But when a man, in process of growth, stands
before a crisis, when inwardly he is mature for new develop-
ments, and then beholds outside himself a being who Jhas
attained to what he aims at, he then recognises this ^ being,
and this recognition suddenly calls what was unconscious in
him into consciousness. Now he knows whither he should and
whither he wishes to goj what would otherwise occupy long

320 INDIA PART iii

periods of time happens then, perhaps, in one supreme moment.
This is the deed of the master, the saviour. — It seems to me as
if I stood at a similar critical point. My one-time aims appear
worthless to me. Whatever I pursue in the spirit of my past
makes me feel that I at heart want something different. But
what? I do not know. I am in bitter need of a master, of one
who stands where I aspire to stand.

It seems to me to-day as if my goal lay in Mahatmadom; as
if I were right to cast off the skin of humanity; for already
there is nothing human which ties me in my innermost self.
And just as the Mahatmas are supposed to be, thus should and
could supermen be. When Jahveh promised to reveal Himself
to Elias, the latter awaited him in the form of the storm. He
came, however, as a still small voice. What folly to imagine
that supermen could be like HebbePs Holof ernes ! The higher
a being is, the more spiritual he is, and the more spiritual he is
the smaller is his direct material power. God does not affect
physical activity at all} He cannot be proved, hardly inferred.
The Mahatmas act only indirectly. In their sphere none of
the laws is valid which determine earthly greatness, there it
seems a matter of course what the saviours and saints of all
times and all countries have taught, which, however, will
sound paradoxical to men for ever: that humility is more than
pride, that ambition is evil, that all struggle after earthly happi-
ness is a mistake, and that only he shall gain his life who loses
it. ... The Mahatmas demand from him who wishes to
follow them the renunciation of everything which here below
is regarded as worthy to be striven after. Very naturally. Am
I so far as to be able to renounce? It seems to me to-day as if
this were so; as if all earthly purpose had already died out
in me, as if all vanity, all striving after elevation and fame,
were dead. If a master appeared to me to-day and said:
Come! I would follow him blindly.

NO Mahatma appears to me. No voice of a master do I hear,
either within or without me. But the air in the Himalayas is
marvellously stimulating. For a long time it has not been so

CHAP.30 THE HIMALAYAS 321

easy for me to think, or cost me so little trouble to abide by
the problems which occupy me at the moment. Thus I spend
several hours every day in making Yoga experiments, without
feeling appreciably tired,

In the course of these experiments I remembered the remark
of a biologist, that our brain was protoplasmic in nature; that
it was the only one of our organs which is still plastic in the
same sense as the entire body of a protozoon. That is not cor-
rect. No matter how difficult it may be to determine the struc-
ture of the brain: it is a differentiated organ which becomes
changed in the course of time in no different a sense from a
muscle which is developed by exercise; nothing essentially
new is being created within it. The peculiarity of the protist,
however, consists in the fact that, out of a formless funda-
mental mass, he creates forms ad hoc, according to the circum-
stances to which he is subjected, and these, sooner or later, sink
back into formlessness. Man, the whole of whose body repre-
sents an ultimate expression of its potentialities with the one
exception of his semen, is also like protoplasm — not, however,
as a physical but as a psychic organism. If I concern myself
with protozoa, I can only make clear to myself their peculiarity
by comparison with the soul: their organs are created just as
ideas come to men. If I reverse the comparison, judging from
the protozoon's point of view, I am obliged logically to deduce
that the substance of which thoughts and mental images are
composed possesses the very characteristics of protoplasm. In
a condition of rest the content of the soul, so far as we are
conscious of it, is amorphous; as soon as attention has been
roused and directed to some point, or as soon as the mass is set
in motion at all, formations are produced— thoughts, tones, pic-
tures, etc. — which disappear as soon as the consciousness changes
its centre. I have tried to observe these manifestations as
such, which is not altogether simple, in so far as they do
not remain willingly, and every thought which we have con-
cerning what we have seen assumes a form which overlays the
original picture: the conclusion which I have come to, in
agreement with the Indians, is that the formations of the soul
are real things, that is to say, objects, which must be understood

322 INDIA PART III

according to the categories of force and matter. Of course,
they belong to a different order of appearances from the events
of outer nature, but it would be a mistake to deny their ma-
terial existence, since they are objects of experience and can-
not be understood as 'spirit.' What ultimately is the truth
about the difference between nature and spirit? That the
difference is a real one seems to me highly improbable, and,
besides, the question cannot be decided in any case; it is
impossible to draw safe conclusions in the sphere of metaphys-
ics by means of reason. For certainly we can affirm no more
than that the antithesis of nature and spirit concerns an episte-
mological relation, a ratio cognoscendi. All given actual
phenomena are 'nature3 and follow her immutable laws. The
creative principle which we must presuppose is expressed in cre-
ation, but is. not creation itself. I am free in so far as I am
able to will, but as soon as I have willed, I find myself rigidly
determined j as soon as a manifestation has been formed, spon-
taneity is at an end. Thus, freedom may be at the bottom of
the body, and God may stand behind all nature, but to imagine
that one sees God directly at work in it is just as contrary to
sense as to regard one's finger-nails as a free decision of the
will. Of all versions, my own seems to be the most correct,
which identifies the concept of metaphysical reality with that
of life,1 for in life alone we see ourselves, ever and again,
pointed back to the fundamental creative cause. Thus, the
whole of nature may originally have been alive in this sense,
and the army of stars may owe its creation to a whim of God —
who can tell? — but what we actually experience is not the will
of God, but events which follow mechanical laws, that is to
say naturej in the same way, mature organisms obey no laws
but physiological ones; just so, social life follows the dead
forms of law and habit, and so forth. From all this it appears
that, no matter in what relation nature and spirit may stand to
one another, it is impossible for reason to differentiate between
them, and as the raison d'etre of this differentiation lies in
reason itself, it may apply it in any way whatever. I am
therefore justified in comprehending the phenomena of con-
1 See my Prolegomena mr Naturphilosophie, Gfcu V.

CHAP.SO THE HIMALAYAS 323

sdousness as matter. Of what kind this matter is, I cannot
say} I myself have not gained any satisfactory conclusions in
this respect, and the assertions of the Indians and the^ theo-
sophists can at present not be tested. But that there is in fact
something like thought-substance, seems certain to me, and
this conclusion, as well as the possibilities which it involves,
leads on to not uninteresting deductions.

Thus it appears that the sphere of freedom recedes in propor-
tion with progressive development. In the case of the protozoa,
it still includes the bodyj with them the physical side of life
proves itself to be plastic in the same sense and to the same
degree as only the psychic side in the case of man. The more
definite forms the physical body assumes, the less free does it
become. Starfish are still able to regenerate half of their
bodies, reptiles at least the extremities, the higher animals have
only retained, of the one-time unlimited imagination of their
bodies, enough that they generally recover quickly and without
being taken care of, when they are ill. In the case of grown-
up human beings, freedom practically does not express itself at
all any more in the physical sphere. — On the other hand, a new
sphere of reality is revealed in them. Man as a psychic entity
is just as much protoplasm as any protozoon is as a physical one;
unformed in himself, but capable of every formation. But
here again, development travels towards stabilisation ; the more
advanced a soul has become, the more differentiated are its
organs and formations, and the more does it incline to crystalli-
sation. Thus we possess not only laws, social systems, religions,
definitely worked-out philosophies: the mind of every one
crystallises, sooner or later, into a rigid structure which, once
it is completed, seems incapable of any change, and only grows
and changes its substance as the physical body does. And now
comes a paradox; we regard as the greatest mind not the one
whose structure is the firmest, but, conversely, the one who is
most plastic; the one who is never finished (fig/). Thus, the
protoplasmic condition seems in principle to be the higher one,
although its own progressive tendency undoubtedly inclines
towards solidified manifestation.

Just at the moment I can only interpret this fact by assuming

324 INDIA PART m

that, in the sphere of lif e, there are higher, but no highest,
manifestations. Definitely outlined phenomena are above in-
definite ones, but above these there are again new undeter-
mined ones which, on their part, find fulfilment in determina-
tion, and so on ad infinitum. Definition means the maximum
of any given moment, but as soon as the moment becomes time,
the maximum tends more and more towards the aspect of a
minimum. Thus, no absolute perfection is conceivable unless
we mean, as Hegel did, the final product of an endless process
— & quantity purely imaginary in the empirical sense and pos-
sessing only mathematical reality. What practical conclusions
are we to draw from this recognition? — I see no other but the
one which has always been my guiding principle: to strive after
perfection everywhere, but not to regard any perfection as
ultimate. Thus much for theory. In practice the question is
considerably more simple. The perfected figure of man is
unattainable to the amoeba, and none of us will ever reach the
perfection of a Buddha. As every individual embodies definite
and limited possibilities, so there exists for every one an abso-
lute maximum (in a given existence, in so far as many of such
may be in store for each, which I do not know). To attain this
maximum should be the aim of man's life. This ideal must also
be stuck to in those cases in which he becomes aware that
higher possibilities exist in him than he thought originally, for
the path to a higher level of perfection always leads through
the aspiration to a lower one, and cannot be found otherwise.
This, then, is the truth which is at the bottom of the theory of
evolution, though the Indian, as well as the Darwinian, expres-
sion of it only does justice imperfectly to the real circumstances:
there really is a sequence of levels, a hierarchy of beings, in
which the immediate ideal of each lies on the next highest
plane. We must strive after perfection, although each per-
fection which has been attained, seen from the next highest
standpoint, appears as a limitation. Only one other possibility
is conceivable, but it seems doubtful to me whether men can
realise it: to become so profoundly inward, by renouncing all
external expression, that one lives in one's own pure possibility.

o THE HIMALAYAS 325

In that case all barriers would be overcome, because removed
to start with. . . .

I AM continuing the interrupted train of thought in a differ-
ent direction. If the innermost principle of life is capable of
every formation, on what does the given formation depend?
Apparently on the external circumstances to which inheritance,
Karma, temperament, also belong. Thus, the evolution of the
world of organisms, on the one hand, and the fate of the indi-
vidual, on the other, could be understood exhaustively as far as
I can see to-day. Everywhere those formations appear which,
on the one hand, are possible, and, on the other, necessary.
When I think from this angle of that Proteus ideal, to which I
have dedicated myself for such a long time, I recognise that its
realisation requires no more than an unlimited plasticity and
the opportunity of letting an infinite number of drcumstances
affect one. A being made of thought-substance could literally
assume any shape j material beings must needs abide by their
species and their type.

The more I concern myself with the problem, die more does
it estrange me that philosophers can take mental formations so
seriously when they must experience every moment how tran-
sient they are, how superficial and accidental their bases. Men
become crystallised into professional types, religious societies
create nations, a man's position in life is expressed in his phys-
ique— certainly. But what is the cause? Surely and exclu-
sively, inertia. If men had a little more imagination, all these
classes could not exist, or, rather, they would exist for reasons
of expediency, but they would not be taken so bitterly in earnest.
For my part, I cannot treat even the most solid manifesta-
tions differently from the formation of the roaming imagina-
tion, and, instead of being delighted by it, I suffer from the
fact that many of them are so enduring. However, most men
see the situation differently, and probably it is well that they do
so; for otherwise, this planet would never acquire a fixed inven-
tory. Yet, if I were to decide ... I confess that in many

326 INDIA PART in

ever-returning moods I regard my aspirations to perfection as
a ps-aller. In the given circumstances, owing to the insur-
mountability of inertia, it is impossible to aspire to anything
better. But I would much prefer it if I could continue without
superimposed determination and could manifest myself, in-
tangible, my real within Self, just as it happens, sometimes as
Keyserling, sometimes as animal or God, and sometimes as the
universe.

No, essentially I am not a human being j my humanity is acci-
dental ... or necessary, just as one happens to take it, but
certainly no more. In the air of the Himalayas, which gives
wings to the mind as no other, the singular tragedy of my
existence becomes painfully plain to me.

Even in my childhood I was surprised that, as a person, I
was unchangeable} I felt myself to be so little identical with
'myself ,' I knew myself as capable of such unlimited transfor-
mations, that it would have seemed more natural to me if my
body had behaved just like the products of my fancy, which
appeared sometimes thus and sometimes differently, according
to my mood. And when I was read to about Proteus, I
thought: at last a being who seems thoroughly natural. I, too,
ought to be able to change like Proteus, for cin reality' I can
do so. 'Essentially' I am no more Hermann Keyserling than
an animal or a tree or any other human being, and if it seems
different it is not my fault. The surprise of my childhood has
never left me 5 it has only grown more profound. Never,
throughout the whole of my life, have I felt myself to be iden-
tical with my person, nor regarded what is personal as essen-
tialj never felt myself affected by what I was and did, what I
suffered and what happened to me. And for years I have
striven to burst the fetters of definite existence, to manifest my-
self as I knew myself to be. Soon I had to see that this was
not possible in the way in which I meant it: man's body is not
plastic in^the^protean sense. Then I tried the same with the
soul, but it failed me too. The actor does not change 'himself,'
when he appears different, but he only represents some one
elsej the poet changes only his expression, not his person. I
knew that this did not represent an ultima, that it must be

CHAP.SO THE HIMALAYAS 327

possible to change one's real existence just as the actor changes
his part, the poet his imaginative embodiment j my direct ex-
perience revealed to me that my person was not identical with
myself, that it limited me, that I could be much more i£ I only
could succeed in escaping from its confines. I had to realise
that here below this is impossible. I had to renounce the
deepest wish of my heart.

This fate caused me to turn to my inner self. After I had
recognised that not only my body had failed me, but that also
my soul was too inert for my purposes, I gave up all outward
strife and withdrew deeper and deeper into my inmost soul,
in order to realise my freedom there. And when I further
recognised that inner realisation possessed its outer exponent
in perfection, I disavowed the Proteus ideal as an ultimate
goal and only strove to perfect myself within the confines of
my nature. But even to-day I have not ceased to grieve that I
had to give up what I really wanted to achieve. Fundamentally
I am not here to perfect myself in the all too narrow confines
of humanity, I have been born to act freely in freer spheres.
And at the times when my wandering faith makes a halt at
the Karma doctrine, I would fain believe that my present fate
signifies the punishment for a period in which I was all too
extravagant a demon.

This much is certain: I am pursuing a course which funda-
mentally is not suited to my nature} the aim which I have set
myself will be more diificult for me to attain than for anyone
else. A Proteus, who strives after finite perfection . . . there
is something tragi-comical about it. If I were, at any rate, a
Bhakta, if I had the inner means at my disposal, which are the
outcome of an emotional religious mood! I lack them; I feel
no real desire for salvation. Or if I were capable of belief in
authority! The blind believer has an easy task to attain his
specific perfection. He just surrenders himself to the tradi-
tional ideas which, thanks to his lack of understanding, he
does not question, and if they are only more or less reasonable,
they develop his soul accordingly. I happen to be, as a human
being, an extreme expression of the type whose greatest ad-
vantage, his intellectual power, makes self-realisation most

328 INDIA PART m

difficult. I am not capable of believing blindly for any period,
I must understand before a spiritual reality becomes real to
me and capable, therefore, of influencing my inner being} I
must have understood my own impulses before they can take
hold of me completely. The centre of my consciousness lies
in the sphere of understanding, in the same way as, with the
animal, it lies in the sphere of the senses, or in the sphere of
feeling in the case of women. This retards my development.
Intellect either lags behind, or else it anticipates experience,
thus abbreviating it and corrupting the experiences of the soul
which might awaken it. How long did it not take me before
I got beyond the condition of the radical sceptic, so that I
gained the first traces of ingenuity! In the days of my youth I
was certain of nothing, since 'man' within me had not yet been
awakened, and my powers of recognition were undeveloped.
And since truthfulness prevented me from professing what I
did not know, I appeared to be lacking in character. I was
unable to decide in favour of anything. To-day I am beyond
this bitter stage. But I do not know anything like as much as I
would have to know to be completely sure of myself. Once
more: how easy it is for inward natures of small intelligence!
They do not need to understand before that which is alive in
their soul becomes real in their consciousness. People like me
remain uncertain until they know, and they know with such
difficulty. And the end overtakes them generally long before
they have attained to the recognition which is their salva-
tion. . . .

This state of affairs makes, in my case, extraordinary de-
mands upon my patience, because I cannot feel myself identical
with my person} I suffer in reality for somebody else. What
consoles me is the consciousness of being a pioneer. My course
will in fact become more and more that of every one, because
the process of intellectualisation continues to advance irre-
pressibly. The times of blind belief are over. So are the times
in which definite forms could be taken perfectly seriously. I
am reminded of Paul Dubois' ideas concerning self -education}
he states very correctly that it is a matter of understanding
whether a man strives after good or evil, but he then solves

CHAP.SO THE HIMALAYAS 329

the practical problem by saying that we ought to tie ourselves
by good habits — we are to introduce such a process of crystal-
lisation that a good and efficient citizen results. This would
only be a new version, well adapted to freethinkers, of the old
means of binding men by dogmata. No one who has attained
the state of consciousness in which the living centre rests in
understanding will be able to approve such a view for himself}
he is literally ^beyond good and evil/ in so far as no special
manifestation can signify an ultimum. He strives after a
higher kind of certainty: not in the form of limitation but of
freedom. He does not want to be good any more as an appro-
priate habit, but he wants to get beyond all habit. He wants
to take root in the fundamental ground of his being, which,
conditioning all limitation, is unlimited itself, he wants to
know absolutely, without prejudice, to wish purely without
intention, solely to be without any limitation of his existence*
This higher condition is attainable. Only the way to it leads
through many dangers, which many a man mil fail to over-
come. But never yet has anything essential been achieved
without loss. The ideal of Personality is no longer the highest:
the vanguard of mankind has already gone so far as to be
obliged to profess a higher ideal if it does not want its own
perdition. Where faith in the absolute value of definite mani-
festations has passed away, where authority is no longer bind-
ing, where ritual is no longer a support, where only that which
is understood appears absolutely real, only two possibilities
are left open: one of them is that of destruction. We will^die
of decomposition if we do not discover new means of salvation,
for the old ones are no longer effective, and a descent from a
natural level to which man has once risen, however often it
has been advocated, is only possible in the form of a fail^ The
other, the positive possibility — and the only one — consists in our
recognising the fact of the new natural level, and in erecting a
higher ideal upon this. No matter how few have up to to-day
risen to this level — these few are decisive; it will depend upon
their example whether the mass will fall into the abyss, or
whether it will advance towards freer and loftier heights. The
new natural level manifests itself in the facts that man can no

330 INDIA PART m

longer believe without understanding, that he no longer recog-
nises accidental barriers, that he has become incapable of taking
names and forms seriously in the sense in which this has been
done hitherto. From this there follows the corresponding
ideal: we must understand perfectly, become absolutely free
from dogma and prejudice, and realise a synthesis of human-
ity above personality. A synthesis in which the perfectly in-
ward human being, living in the spirit and in truth, uses em-
pirical manifestations only as a means of expression.

ONCE more I have ridden this night to the peak, which, of all
those round about, offers the most distant view, in order to
behold the sunrise. This unfortunately took place unnotice-
ably as the mist had already risen too high. But it was given
to me, for hours before, to contemplate the giants which stood
out like alabaster from the dark sky. During these hours I
experienced a marvellous feeling. Once more I felt as if I had
already attained to my goal, as if I had already escaped from
the chrysalis of my humanity. And as I thought of the reality
which flags so sadly behind what is possible and what ought
to be, my bitterness suddenly became changed into joy. I
thought how exquisite it is that I have not yet attained my
goal! That I still have something to do j thus my earthly exist-
ence has a meaning. And how admirable that my natural
disposition is unfavourable! Thus I will experience joy at
work done. It is not the goal which has been attained, but the
forced difficulty which heightens happily the consciousness of
life. I will see how far I can get with this person of mine,
which here below I will never be able to overcome altogether.

It is only thus that I, that every one, ought to put the prob-
lem of his life. It is not possible to alter one's talents — but why
should one? Not one of them embodies any value in itself,
each one is only an opportunity for expression, by means of
which every one can realise the utmost. And the more diffi-
culty is^experienced, the sooner does one succeed. No one has
yet achieved^ real greatness in the domain whose mastery was
easiest for him} nothing offers a greater obstacle to a genius

CHAP.SO . THE HIMALAYAS

than his talent. A just man hardly ever becomes a saint. Un-
favourable circumstances call forth supreme efforts with the
greatest certainty. Thus I have every cause for joy.

I will see how far I can get in my coursej now I ought to
progress at a double-quick pace, far quicker, at any rate, than
at the time when I did not recognise clearly on what everything
depended. Then I lost much time through doubt, through
looking backward and sideways j I reproached myself because
I could not do justice to many demands which were made
upon me, especially as far as the realm of altruistic activity was
concerned. I might have spared myself those. I, as a definite,
limited person, am only an organ of that self, which is my real
being j and this organ should function according to its nature j
that is the sole cause of its existence. In doing its utmost, no
matter how blindly it may be intent upon its special aim, it
acts better in and for the whole than when it attempted to serve
it directly. To the latter task others have been called. The
quintessence of all ethics is contained in the warning of Sri
Krishna's: Rather fulfil thy own Dharma, no matter how low it
may be, than the most illustrious Dharma of some one else.
The objective ideal, the absolute, can only then penetrate ap-
pearance completely when the personal centre of the latter
becomes the focus of the former. That innermost personal
spot which is incapable of approach by the outer world, is at
the same time directly connected with the centre of the uni-
verse. Thanks to it, God can manifest Himself through every
nature, but only in so far as it lives in accordance with itself.
Therefore, no one nature need worry about itself. As to my-
self, I am in a particularly favourable position, because I now
recognise with perfect clarity what is essential. Now I can do
all and everything in the spirit of the cone,' so that all and
everything must contribute to my eternal welfare. What
should discourage me, now that I know? What should impede
me? Neither disease nor misfortune, neither my own failure
nor that of others, neither virtue nor vice. Everything in life
serves the man who knows. ...

I am truly favoured. I feel my happiness so intensively to-
day that I would like to radiate it to the whole of mankind. I

332 INDIA PART m

wish I could become an encouraging example to it! Would
that humanity might learn from me how little reason it has to
be afraid! It still suffers from the superstition of good dis-
position j it still reverences definite states as ideals j it still
f ancies that there are exemplary natural dispositions. Thus,
humanity does not become joyful but wretched, when it must
look up to something, and when love is not strong enough to
throttle envy. But there are no exemplary natures, nor can
there be. Not the greatest man was worthy of reverence as a
product of nature. If Buddha and Christ represent the high-
est examples for us, this is not due to their disposition, but to
what they have made of it j it depends on their being born again
in the spirit. But those greatest individuals were from the be-
ginning so blessed that it does not seem easy to look beyond that
which was born with themj every one feels unconsciously, in
contemplating them, the inferiority of his own position. My
person happens to be perfectly unexemplary. My Dharma de-
mands an existence which could hardly be desirable for any-
one but myself, it requires the rejection of nearly all those ties
which are justly regarded as the most formative, so that prob-
ably nothing of what I do or what I am could be an example, in
the good sense, for anyone. I must appear positively abnormal,
because Proteus must present itself on the level of human
existence, not as the most universal, but as the most extremely
specialised appearance. But this is just what predestines me to
be an example. No man is exemplary as a product of nature —
there is no sort of danger that anyone should take me as an
example j but everyone becomes exemplary in case he attains
his supreme perfection within the limits given by nature j that
is what I could, what I must attain to. And even if I do not
get^ so far, if death overtakes me half-way, everyone who
aspires at all will be able to learn from me, if only my struggle
for perfection animates the whole of my life, if only every
single thing I do gives clear expression to this strife. Who-
ever strives for himself will see in me that in truth nature does
not imply fetters, but the way to freedom, that spirit is able to
transfigure all appearance j that we belong essentially to a
world of spirit, whose laws are (quite different from those of the

CHAP.SO THE HIMALAYAS 333

earth, the whole of whose significance depends on the fact that
they can serve the spirit as a means. There is no other than
spiritual significance j significance alone in its turn gives mean-
ing to facts. Thus it depends upon the spirit in which a man
lives, whether the insufficiency of his talents, adversity, suffer-
ing, or, conversely, good fortune, will lead to his salvation or
to his destruction.

IN the evening the Tibetans like to gather together by torch-
light to watch a mummery. They are rich in humour, true
masters of mime, and especially when they dance, dressed up
as dragons, they are so perfect in style that every movement
strikes one as a natural necessity, actually conjuring up the
spirit of the chalk age — it is then that I loudly add my applause
to that of the crowd. This nightly play in the mountain world
of the Himalayas works upon me like a living myth. The
Indian sagas of the beginning and the end of the world come
back to my mind} playfully, they tell us, and as if at play,^did
Brahma create the worldj without impulsion, without design,
without forethought, just like a child at play. And in full play
it will some day pass away. On Doomsday Shiva will begin a
wild dance, bacchanalian, exulting, more and more frenzied,
till at last the universe is danced away.

How sublime is this myth! How much grander than that of
the carefully pondering patriarch, who laboured for six days
with a fixed purpose, and was then, on the seventh, so very
well pleased with himself— who planned a final settlement of
all accounts, at which each item will be examined to the last
detail. Let me, on the other hand, praise Brahma, the player!
Very probably the Indian myth speaks truth. If this world has
a beginning,, if it be based on intelligent thought, then it must
have been called into existence without dim or purpose, as a
work of art originates in the poet's fancy. Only in such a case
can it pass for a masterpiece; from the angle of any design but
its very own, it is a failure. But if Brahma was at play when
he created the world, then bdeed should creation be praised
How rich in change are all events! How surprisingly the one

334 INDIA PART in

fits into the other! And how full of meaning are the invented
rules of the game!

Is it not a mistake when man takes life tragically? Would it
not be sublime if he too could do as Brahma does? For what,
after all, differentiates play from work? Not its seriousness: I
know nothing more serious than the way in which real children
play. It is the particular aim in work, compared with the want
of purpose in play. But life in itself is absolutely without aim
or purpose. It is a pure outpouring, a growing and giving, a
clear striving for ever fuller expression, in which the idea of a
purpose and the purpose itself are only a hindrance. The
more original a being, the more veracious, vital, genuine — the
more his existence will resemble a game. Thus the existence
of a God is only conceivable as play.

I place myself into the condition of consciousness which
corresponds to the above: what would I lack if I could attain
this plane? I would stand above fate, above care, above myself,
above everything which concerns me. However acutely I
peered into the world, I could discover no evil in it. Thus
Shakespeare looked upon it when in the mood in which he
created his comedies. They are the work of a god, not of a
manj of a being for whom tragedy had ceased to exist, for
whom law and fate are empty words, because he has come to
know nothing beyond the rules of the game.

3i
CALCUTTA

:T was in the ancient palace of the Tagores. The musicians
squatted on silken carpets, playing their old-world ditties
on strange instruments. Their music could not be confined
within the limits of melody, it had no reference to special
harmonies, nor could it be dissected in accordance with a simple
rhythm.} even the individual tones were not clearly defined.
Nevertheless, every apparent entity really represented a kind
of unity: the unity of the state of soul which continues until
it changes in another. The theory, I would almost say the

CHAP.3I CALCUTTA 335

mythology of this music, is indeed very wonderful. From the
earliest days certain sequences of tone correspond to certain
picturesque scenes} the connoisseur knows the corresponding
Rag for every pictorial motif. And every Rag corresponds to
a special time of the year and may only be played at a certain
hour. There are Rags for every hour of the day and night:
when yesterday, on a winter's evening, a midsummer noonday
melody was to be played at my special request, the musicians
became restivej they could not imagine how such a thing was
possible.

It is not easy to explain in words what Indian music means,
for it has very little in common with our own: it is essentially of
a piece with Indian dancing. No intention, no formation with
contours, no beginning, no end} it is the undulation and the
sway of the eternally flowing stream of life. Hence the same
effect upon the listener} it does not tire one, it might continue
for ever, for no one ever tires of life. But what is true of the
Nautch in general has been developed in this music to the
finest, the most intimate point. Not time in general, but the
particular conditions of life, seem in this case to have been pro-
jected upon the background of eternity.

The programme music of Europe is at fault when it wants to
represent with tones, qualities which are not music. For
musical qualities there are no equivalents in other spheres}
music can only be direct expression. In the overture to Tristan,
the eddying of the waves on the sand seems to be represented
almost tangibly, but only because the listener has the shore in
front of his eyes, or because he knows what is meant to be
represented} in themselves these harmonies would hardly
correspond any less to the rustling of trees. In reality this
music only expresses a certain condition which cannot be de-
fined by anything objective* Just in the same way the noon-
day Rag of summer would not necessarily evoke the feeling of
paralysing heat. But this is something which the Indians have
never demanded of it: the noonday Rag of summer is to cor-
respond to its subject only in so far as it should hold an enhanc-
ing mirror to the real conditions which one passes through —
and this much music can do. A French artist once observed,

336 INDIA PART m

concerning Indian music, which possesses this faculty more
than any other: c*est la musique du corps astral. That is pre-
cisely what it is (so far as there is an astral realm which corre-
sponds to the traditional concept) : a wide, immeasurable world,
in which states of soul takes the place of objects. One experi-
ences nothing definite, nothing tangible, in listening to it, and
yet one feels oneself most intensely alive. In fact, in follow-
ing the change of the tones, one is listening to oneself. One
feels how evening grows into night, and night into day, how
the bedewed morning is succeeded by the oppressive noon, and
instead of watching stereotyped pictures passing before one's
review, which make experience so easily a nuisance, one becomes
conscious, in the mirror of tone, of the ever new shades with
which life reacts to the stimuli of the world. How should one
grow weary? How should one get tired of listening? When
I was blind, I was surprised by the discovery that the man with-
out sight knows no boredom. The time which, as a rule, we
measure by the appearance of objects which changes rarely as
rapidly as we could wish, is now valued by the change of
mental images. And as the soul produces restlessly, heaping
pictures upon pictures ceaselessly, no consciousness of monot-
ony can exist. This comfort which nature gives to the blind,
Indian music has made the common property of all who have
ears to hear.

There are variations to every Ragj they are called Raginis,
feminine Rags, and every masculine Rag possesses many of
these. Their relation to each other is expressed in the most
curious way in music. It is undoubtedly partially a question of
musical relationship, but the essential quality of the relation of
the Rags to the Raginis is displayed in the specific effects, the
special conditions, which they call to life. For women have a
different effect from men. Indian music belongs in its essence
positively to another dimension than our own. That which is
objective for us hardly exists here. Successive tones are not
necessarily related harmoniously, the division of bars is miss-
ing, key and rhythm are changed constantly} an Indian piece of
music* could not, in its real character, be written down in our
connotation at all. The objective element of Indian music, the

CHAP.3I CALCUTTA 337

only decisive factor, is that which is left to subjective appre-
ciation in Europe: expression, interpretation, touch. It is pure
originality, pure subjectivity, pure dwree reelle, as Bergson
would say, uninterf ered with by external ties. It is tangible
objectively at most as rhythm, for rhythm implies, as it were,
the point of indifference between objective and subjective
conditions. Thus, this music is, on the one hand, intelligible
to every one, on the other, only to those whose souls are most
highly cultured. Intelligible to every one in so far as he is
alive, and this music expresses the very nature of lifej intelli-
gible only to those most highly cultured, as its spiritual signifi-
cance can only be fathomed by the Yogi, who knows his own
soul. In relation to this music, a musical individual hardly
occupies a preferential position. The metaphysician, however,
does so. For the metaphysician is the man whose conscious-
ness reflects the essential nature of life, and that is just what
Indian music does. In listening to it, he hears his very own
knowledge gloriously reborn in the world of sound. This
music is, in fact, another and more coloured expression of
Indian wisdom. He who wishes to understand it completely
must have realised his self, must know that the individual is
only a transient tone in the world's symphony, that everything
belongs together, that no unit can be detached from the whole }
that nothing substantial is essentially more than a condition,
and that no condition is more than the momentary picture of
dark, ever-flowing life. He must know that Being abides
beyond all manifestation, which is only its expression for the
reflection of its splendour, and that salvation consists in anchor-
ing his consciousness in being. — That is how the Indian, whose
guest I was, felt and understood this music The performers
resembled ecstatics in the act of communicating with God.
And the audience listened with the devotion with which one
listens to divine revelation.

It was a memorable night The noble figures of the Tagores,
with their delicate, spiritualised faces, in their picturesquely
folded togas, fitted admirably into the lofty hall, hung with its
ancient paintings. Abenindranath, the painter of the family,
made me think of the types which, once upon a time, were the

338 INDIA PART HI

ornament of Alexandria j Rabindranath, the poet, impressed
me like a guest from a higher, more spiritual world. Never
perhaps have I seen so much spiritualised substance of soul con-
densed into one man. . . . And now, at one glance, I survey
Indian music, Indian wisdom and Indian life. This music,
compared with our own, is monotonous} a long composition
often embraces only a small range of tones, often but a single
note has to convey the entirety of a mood. The essentials of
this music lie elsewhere, in the dimension of pure intensityj
there no wide surface is needed.— Indian metaphysics are
monotonous too. They speak always only of the One, without
a second, in which God, soul and the world flow together, the
One which is the innermost essence of all multiplicity. Indian
metaphysics too refer to something purely intensive. They
refer to life itself, that ultimate, essentially un-objective Real-
ity from which objects are poured forth like sudden fancies.
In the language of extension, one can only speak of the non-
extensive in the form of the simple j extension as such does
not interest this philosophy. But no philosophy has realised
the One more dearly than the Indian has. — And now as to the
Indians themselves. As they are solely intent upon essentials,
they have bestowed little attention on appearance. This has
luxuriated at times like vegetation, at others it has eked out its
miserable existence, ever unaided by conscious mind. Hence,
Indian personality is notably lacking in width and breadth.
Even at best it seems poor compared with its Western equiv-
alent. By compensation, however, it knows modulations of
intensity, a manif oldness in the dimension of depth, as no other
does. Of all lyric verse of our time, that of Rabindranath
Tagore embodies the most richly and gorgeously coloured
profundity.

END OF VOLUME I

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